


Unforgettable

by cembular



Series: Unforgettable [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abstract, Abuse, Character Death, Character Development, Character Study, Chronic Illness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Science, Flirting, Healing, Heartbreak, Hurt Kirk, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Kirk, Loss of Control, Loss of Trust, M/M, Major Illness, Major Original Character(s), Male Slash, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mind Meld, Mind Rape, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, OOC Spock, Object Insertion, Oblivious Spock, Physical Abuse, Pon Farr, Protective Kirk, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovered Memories, Rejection, Repressed Memories, Science Fiction, Sexual Violence, Slow Build, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Vulnerable!Spock, Young Spock, delirious spock, previous heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 236,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cembular/pseuds/cembular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Enterprise picks up an experimental research team from the planet Stronos, they quickly discover things don’t always go according to plan. They have a ship full of a newly discovered material called Renneral, a jealous captain, a possessive and very affectionate Vulcan (not Spock), a delirious first officer, and lots and lots of Pon Farr. </p><p>What is this Renneral material? Is it worth it to the Federation to keep it at the expense of an entire species? Will Jim figure out it's potential dangers? And how will Jim ever get time to tell Spock how he feels when a very odd Vulcan is blocking him at every turn… or even worse, how will Jim react to rejection?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If It Kills Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my story!!! This story will have a slow build. Not a lot of action in the first couple chapters, but it’s there to set up the relationship between Jim and Spock. I promise things get interesting soon though.
> 
> There are definitely grammatical errors and mistakes in this piece so please bear with me! I’m just an amateur :P
> 
> Enjoy the first chapter of Unforgettable . LLAP
> 
> (chapter title inspired by the song "If It Kills Me" by Jason Mraz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to take this opprotunity to apologize to Yesiker. This individual gifted me a piece of fan art a while back and I only JUST recently learned how to post pictures and links to AO3.... -.- ! SO I want to post this piece of art here because I get so emotional everytime I see it and I want this to be the first thing people see when they open this fic! It represents the scene so perfectly, and I want everyone in the whole wide world to see it!!!!! <333 
> 
> Please feel free to follow Yesiker on tumblr [here](http://therealdoodlenerd.tumblr.com/) ! Send them lots of love, and check out more of their art! Absolutely STUNNING! :D <3
> 
> Thank you SO much Yesiker for this! I can't thank you enough for this wonderful wonderful piece of art! It's such a wonderful gift, and even tho it has been a while since you first gave it to me, I promise you I still look at it often and marvel at the awesomeness of it!!!!!! <333333

** **

 

**If It Kills Me**

**CEM**

**~o~**

 

The flaps of the tent door flung open into the wind. Though it had been a constant breeze for nearly five weeks, it had never been this windy or this cold. As soon as the flaps bad been released, the howl of the wind was even louder through the opening.

“Rebecca,” Joseph grumbled with one eye open. He turned over to face the woman only to get a mouth full of her curly brown hair in his mouth. Spitting to release the curls from his airway, Rebecca woke up once Joseph’s hands began to pull the strands manually out of his mouth with his hands.

“Ouch, Joseph, not now,” She gasped in a half sleep mumble. She attempted to smack Joseph over her shoulder to halt the tugging on her hair. She could barely see him through the dark, but with the moonlight escaping from the recently opened flaps of the tent, she could see the outlines of his face highlighted. Her eyes were traced back towards the tent door. She raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Did you not tie the tent doors back?” She asked, sitting up in the bed.

“I tied it down! The damn thing must have come loose in the wind,” Joseph exclaimed, placing his glasses onto his nose before tossing the thick blanket off of him and onto Rebecca’s lap. He stomped angrily towards the door. “Thank God that ships coming to pick us up. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand.”

The cool air near the door escaped into the warmth causing Rebecca to pull the entirety of the blanket around her body. She shivered as she watched Joseph struggle to catch the flaps on the door. She clinged to whatever warmth she could gather from the blanket.

“Damn, fucking thing. You know sometimes I really regret joining you guys on this project. I mean we _have_ dilithiums. Why would we be out here trying to…” Joseph began before Rebecca interrupted sourly.

“The RU-598 project is of great scientific importance. You know that. Besides Joe, you wouldn’t have ever met me,” She finished in a more sweet tone, hoping that Joseph wouldn’t continue his rant and would return to bed with her.

Every time Joseph did go on this rant Rebecca got closer and closer to knocking the man on his ass. Sure, there were times during the journey when things weren’t so great, but it was all for a good cause. Rebecca had invested a lot of her time into the project and now into her relationship with Joe. To have the man she cared so much berate her passions made her question a lot of things in her life. She didn’t want to have to question anymore.

Finally catching the flap of the tent door, Joseph began fighting against the wind to pull it back towards the tie near the bottom and the top.

“RU-598,” He scoffed back at Rebecca. He finally got the top of the door tied down again. He sighed exasperatedly before reaching for the other flap. “I’d rather be in a dilithium mine then anywhere near this plan-“

Out from beyond the tent a long drawn out cry silenced Joseph from biting out at his fiancé Rebecca. The string from the bottom flap of the tent slipped through his fingers and caught onto the wind. It sounded similar to a male voice, but the blood curdling yell threw off his guess as to what or who had made the noise.

Rebecca pulled the blanket even closer to her body, hugging her knees into her chest. “What the hell was that Joe?” She screamed back, her eyes glossy with fear.

At first she had thought the noise came from Joe, but she quickly noted how muffled the shriek had been. It sounded like the voice was not that far from their tent but as it echoed it sounded like it was traveling.

Joseph jumped back from the tent door, watching the bottom flap dancing ungracefully in the wind. The slapping noise of the material snapping in the wind and against the other side of the tent was unnerving. Both Joseph and Rebecca were quiet for a time, listening to subtle groaning from outside the tent.

“Joe!” Rebecca squealed, trying to keep her voice down so that the mystery stranger couldn’t hear her. But with the wind whistling and the noise of the tent flap, it would have been impossible to hear her.

Rebecca’s eyes were wide and full of tears of fear, watching over Joe. Her hands clasped against the blanket tightly, trying to hold on to whatever sanity was left within her. She was never one for scary movies or surprises, which was one of the reasons she was uncertain about following the RU-598 project. She believed in the concept and dedicated a great deal of her life to developing the theory behind it with her coworkers, but traveling to the unknown planet was unsettling.

Joseph reached up towards the top knot that he had made to keep the flap down. As soon as Rebecca saw his arm reach up for the strings, she sprang out of bed herself and threw on her coat to keep her bare arms warm. Though the planet fluctuated in temperatures during the night, Rebecca still wore this skimpy silk pyjama set. She enjoyed the feeling of Joseph’s skin on her skin during the night. He would hold her in his arms and brace her against the cold air, sharing his warmth with her.

“You’re not going out there are you?” She asked, as she stumbled to the door that Joe was holding back. He looked back towards her, his glasses mirroring her curious expression back at her.

“It sounds familiar,” He spoke just above a whisper, slowly he released the flap of the door watching it catch on the wind violently. Both of them tensed at the feeling of the cold wind.

Rebecca watched Joseph step into the open air hesitantly. His eyes looked across the flat sandy ground. She slowly followed him out into the cold. Her skin began to pinch under the cool air and she watched as Joe’s eyes went wide. Clearly he had seen who was making all that noise.  

“Sovik!” He called out dashing out of Rebecca’s view. He had moved so fast Rebecca didn’t even have the chance say anything. He had darted out of her view within seconds.

The curiosity had turned into sheer concern. As soon as she had heard who the individual was who was in distress was Sovik, she dashed out of the tent after Joe. When she moved the flaps out of her way and out of her face, she saw other members of the RU-598 team coming out from their own large tents. They apparently had been concerned about the noise as well.

Still, Rebecca chased Joe, following him until she caught sight of the man she respected so much, kneeling in the sand with his hands over his face. Joe stood a couple feet away watching the brilliant man clearly breaking down.

The sight did not surprise Rebecca in the slightest. As she saw the man who was leading the RU-598 team lying on the ground gasping for breath, her mind retraced to the nights prior to that day. The green circles that had appeared across his back, shoulders, and neck. The way he had laughed and cried. The way he had acted completely out of logic. Acting nothing like the Sovik she met years ago.

Rebecca moved past Joe and stepped forward towards Sovik, kneeling next to him to lay a hand over his forehead. She knew that Sovik would never harm her. From the moment she had met Sovik on Earth as he approached her about the project, she knew he was completely harmless. Though he had not smiled or gave her any reason for her to trust him, she could sense by the comfort in his words that he was gentle and calm.

“Becky, don’t. It must be some form of space madness we’ve never seen before or something!” Joe called out to Rebecca, but to no avail.

Rebecca calmly brushed the dark brown strands out from Sovik’s face, her touch was gentle and soft against Sovik’s smooth skin. She never had the opportunity to touch Sovik like this before. He had always been so reserved, restraint. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state raised her concerns even more.

“Go back to your tents!” Rebecca commanded of the onlookers coming from the tents hesitantly. She was somewhat of a second in command when it came to the research team. It was an unspoken rule that everyone seemed to abide by. Everyone but Joe. He planted his feet firmly into the sand next to Rebecca.

A hand gently touched along the upswept eyebrows and then across the pointed ends of his ears. Something had gone terribly wrong with Sovik, and there was nothing she could think to do about it.

“We can’t tell anybody about this.” She paused as she ran her fingers over his forehead. “I just hope the Enterprise hurries.” Her hand left the green tinted skin and dropped into the black, cold night sand beneath them.

__

 

“Check.” Spock spoke out clearly and with perfect articulation. His eyes had not moved from his opponent’s. His captain was now starring back at him with a warm smile over his lips.

Jim lifted his hand and danced his fingers over the air above one of his pieces. He teased Spock’s curiosity by moving them over a series of pieces in an attempt to confuse Spock in which one he would choose. Jim’s eyes were fixed on Spock and the eyebrow he suddenly raised up. Spock’s eyes shifted from Jim’s hand to his eyes. Spock was severely unimpressed.

“Captain? Your move.” Spock smirked slightly towards Jim. He found Jim’s strategy somewhat irritating as many of his traits were. It was an irritation he had grown used to in Jim. He would even dare to say he liked it.

Jim smiled at Spock, tilting his head slightly to the right. He settled his hand on one of the pieces moving it up a level so that it was parallel with his king. “Check mate.” His words were confident and knowing which peaked Spock’s irritation.

Spock’s brows changed from an upward position to a narrow and aggravated position. His slanted brows hovered just above his eyes as he analyzed Kirk’s move with all of his attention and focus.

As Spock was deep in computer mode, Jim took the opportunity to stand up and get himself a drink. He took a few steps to the replicator and ordered a full glass of ice tea. He knew that Spock wasn’t one for alcohol and he wasn’t one for late night caffeine, and for whatever reason that helped him in his own decision in choosing ice tea.

It was a strange trend that Jim was noticing. Every time he spent time with Spock, playing chess with him, speaking with him, walking with him, eating with him, he would get overwhelmingly hot. It wasn’t like that when he first met Spock. It was nearly a year ago that he noticed the way his hands trembled and the way his temperature rose. He even had troubles speaking when he was around Spock at one point.

It was funny to think about those moments when Jim’s tongue seemed to paralyze its self around Spock. Well, funny now, very inconvenient at the time. Jim would be on the bridge giving orders as the professional captain he was, see Spock and forget what mission they were on completely.

Luckily those times had passed and Jim was once again capable of maintaining thought around the Vulcan. Perhaps to many thoughts, Jim sometimes considered. Sometimes he got so caught up in said thoughts that he often got caught staring at the Vulcan.  

Jim smiled as he pulled the glass from the replicator only to feel a slight grumble in his stomach. He looked down at his stomach as if a stern glance would silence it further. It continued to rumble quietly, even under his gaze.

Hearing his stomach growling at him reminded Jim that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. He turned quickly towards Spock who was finished eyeing the chessboard and was now studying Kirk instead. His deep, dark eyes almost ogling at the captain until they met with Jim’s. Quickly Spock’s eyes darted back towards the chess board shamefully. He appeared somewhat disturbed that he had been caught watching the captain.

A smile grew on Jim’s lips as he felt the temperature rise once again. He knew all too well why he was feeling this way. Though it took months upon months to place his finger on it, he was certain that he had found the cause. Spock was a fine first officer, a beyond loyal friend, and possibly a little something more.

Months upon months was no exaggeration as Jim could not place his finger on a single moment when he realized he had started feeling this way. He had such a strong adoration for the Vulcan for so long, it was hard to place when it had grown to something so intense. Something so undeniably beautiful and deep.

“How did I do commander?” Jim asked taking a sip of his drink slowly as he watched Spock’s eyes scanning the board he had already interrogated for some time.

Spock swallowed loudly before answering his captain. “Sufficiently.” Spock leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes returned to Jim’s playfully. “Though I must admit captain that I am in some form of… disbelief.”

Jim set his hand on the back of Spock’s chair. Had he done such a gesture a year ago, Spock would have tensed up and excused himself from the room. Jim remembered how every time Jim got close to him Spock would tense up and flee. However, in this moment, Spock remained seated and looking at the chessboard comfortably. He was still settled into the chair with his spine pressed against Jim’s fingers. He could feel the warmth of Spock engulfing his finger tips.

“Spock we’re off duty.” Jim quipped, setting the half empty glass on the table in front of Spock. “No need to be so formal.”

“As you wish.” Spock muttered, his eyes set on the glass Jim had set in front of him. It seemed that Jim could set anything in front of the man, and he would go into computer analyse mode. Scanning the details.

Jim watched the deep brown eyes move down the glass and onto the table where they casually inched towards Jim’s fingers that were set on the table beside the cold glass of tea. Under Spock’s gaze Jim could help but inwardly shutter, his fingers twitching as they tried not to make any sudden movements.

Finally Jim’s fingers tapped the table gently. It was another one of the ways Spock seemed to change Jim. Jim was normally a very well balanced and patient man. He never made any anxious movements or had any obsessive gestures, but when Spock was watching him (not just looking), he felt anxious.

Without much thought, Jim continued to tap his fingers against the table. The repetitive gesture seemed to catch Spock’s attention, causing him to look up into his captain’s eyes. It was so difficult to piece together what Spock was thinking at that moment. He half expected Spock to look at Jim as though he were insane, but instead he was given a look that almost expressed appreciation. Jim couldn’t be certain though.

After some time of silence filled with admiring glances, Jim finally spoke again. “Well Mr. Spock, have you eaten anything yet?” He removed his hand from Spock’s chair, as he widened the distance between them so he could see Spock in his entirety. He was beautiful.

His first officer tightened his arms across his chest and looked up at Jim with his eyebrows raised curiously. “Jim, you and I have been in each other’s company since 0712.” He began to note which caused Jim to think just how much time he spent with Spock and didn’t even realize it. “We did not take a break during the entire duration of our shift due to the meeting. We both did not eat anything since 0730 on the bridge.”

Jim raised his eyebrow. He knew that Vulcans had a good memory, but Spock’s memory was remarkable. For a moment it excited Jim that Spock had remembered all the details of their day together down to the exact minutes. Once Jim realized that Spock had indicated he was indeed hungry, it brought him back to reality.

“Well then, in that case would you care to come down and get some food with me?” He asked politely with a small smile.

“It’s an atypical time to be eating Jim.” Spock informed implying that it was past their regular eating hours on the enterprise. Normally Jim and Spock ate their supper around 1800, but it was now creeping into 2100.

“Not everybody can comfortably go days without eating Spock.” Jim replied succinctly with a smirk.

Spock considered the answer for a moment before answering. “I did not respond in the negative Jim.” Spock stood up from his chair. He pushed the chair in towards the table so that it was neatly tucked out of the way for the other occupants of the rec room.

As Jim followed Spock out his eyes caught on a young lady wearing a red yeoman uniform. She was seated near their exit with her eyes following Kirk’s as he walked. While Jim refrained from commenting, he noticed another set of eyes glued on him and his first officer. There was another women sitting next to her in a blue science uniform and brown tied hair jumbled on top of her head.

Just as Jim’s suspicions heightened, both women gleamed an affectionate smile towards the captain. Neither smile was sly or forged, they were genuine, sweet and telling. Telling of what he wasn’t certain, but he couldn’t help but reply in a similar expression.

“Ladies.” Jim saluted charmingly with a nod. Both women replied in their own ways and Jim was out of the rec room, heading down the hall in a half jog to catch up to his first officer. Within seconds Jim and Spock were at the lift where Jim grasped his friend by the shoulder. “Why don’t we walk?”

Spock’s eyebrow fluttered slightly before relaxing in Jim’s gaze. They both had their heads turned to each other before Jim took Spock’s silence as affirmation. Jim was already making his way down the hall claiming the head start this time.

Jim always enjoyed his walks with Spock. Though Jim felt entirely secure with the silence, it was hard to tell what Spock had thought of it. Since Spock had himself convinced that he did not bare emotions, Jim found it impossible that he had any sort of affection towards him. If Spock did harbor some human characteristics, what were they like? Did he ever think about kissing Jim as much as Jim thought about kissing Spock? And what if something sparked between them? Would Jim be able to handle a Vulcan in love? Whatever that was like.

The two men walked quietly through the hall. The further along the hall they got, the higher the temperature seemed to get. Jim began to feel the slightest trickle of sweat along his forehead, and his palms grew clammy. Suddenly Jim was a lot more uncomfortable in the silence.

From the corner of Jim’s eye he could see Spock’s stoic expression peering down the hall confidently. It was exactly what Jim feared earlier. This zero ability to tell what Spock was feeling or thinking was driving Jim insane. Did the silence feel as uncomfortable to Spock as it did for Jim? He would never know.

“Dun dah dah, dun dah dah.” Jim hummed slightly as he slowed his pace. The sudden stop in their walking caused Spock to halt as well to watch Jim sway like an early twentieth century singer. Spock raised an eyebrow confusedly.

“Sir?” He probed concernedly as he tilted his head slightly at Jim.

The humming turned into a whistle which gave Spock a better indication of the song Jim was trying to duplicate. Still, with the help of Jim’s very well practiced whistling he could not recognize the tune at all.

“You know it.” Jim interrupted his whistling for a moment before continuing again with a smile. For a moment his smile took away from the consistency of his whistling. Even with captain Kirk’s insistency, Spock could not decipher the song, but he was determined to.

“I don’t believe I do Ji…” Spock began before Jim began singing.

Luckily the hall was deserted at this time. It was the lonely hallway that very few people decided to take at late hours to the mess hall. If Spock had the capability, he was sure he’d be blushing from the unordinary actions of his captain. For a moment he considered whether the captain had fallen ill or not. Perhaps it was an odd symptom to a human disease unknown to Vulcans. Spock could not be sure.

“ _Unforgettable, that’s what you are. Unforgettable, tho’ near or far_.” Jim sang out dramatically towards a wide eyed Spock.

“Jim.” Spock scolded as he started to ease his way further down the hall, but Jim followed close behind, his song continuing.

“ _Like a song of love that clings to me. How the thought of you does things to me. Never before, has someone been more.”_ Jim motioned for Spock to continue the song, but Spock’s eyes remained wide and unknowing.

“Come on Spock it’s a classic.” Jim laughed, as the two entered into the Mess hall, Jim slightly heart broken and blushing from the lack of interest from Spock. _He doesn’t like serenades_ , Jim made a mental note of that.

Spock looked back at Jim as soon as the two entered. His eyes wondering over Jim slightly, as if examining him for other signs of illness. Without much luck, Spock decided to move forward into the dining area to the replicators on the wall.

Jim noticed McCoy sitting at one of the tables with his PADD close in front of him. As Spock was going through his unique menu of Vulcan/vegan items, Jim quickly replicated a plate of chicken stir fry and sat across from Bones.

“Bones.” He greeted, watching the half empty bowl of soup in front of the doctor.

McCoy’s eyes slowly rose from the PADD and onto the captain. “Bit late to be having a meal.” Bone’s commented, looking down at the medium sized plate before Jim. “Busy day?” He asked, pushing his PADD further along the table so that it was out of his way. Now that Jim had joined him he didn’t need the company of work to occupy his attentions. Jim always did a good job of that.

“Yeah I guess so.” Jim answered, driving his fork into a large piece of chicken and testing it in his mouth.

Bone’s smirked as Jim’s expression displayed exactly what synthesized chicken usually tasted like… disgusting. It always seemed to be extremely dry, salty and bitter. McCoy hated the replicators for lots of reasons, one of them being the fact that the replicator in his room had not been functional for nearly a year and a half. Every time and engineer came in to fix it, it was on the fritz the very next day. Aside from his own misfortune, he always seemed to question the quality of the food. The replicated food could not compare to the nutritional value of a freshly prepared, home cooked meal. Even if the science were sound McCoy still wouldn’t believe it.

“How’s the chicken today?” McCoy questioned with a smirk. He enjoyed pushing the captain’s buttons when it came to his health. It was the one area where McCoy had every right to discuss whether Kirk wanted to or not. McCoy liked having that little control over his captain.

Jim’s eyes looked up at McCoy humorously irritated. His eyes said what didn’t need to be said. _Don’t ask._

Spock joined the two men at the table with a small bowl. “Doctor.” He greeted, however his eyes barely acknowledged him, they simply went through him. The two were never as outwardly socialable to one another. Not like how Jim was with both of them.

“Spock.” McCoy almost grumbled the name. He raised his head slightly to see the contents of Spock’s bowl. “Couscous?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Slowly Spock shook his head, pulling a fork from his napkin before poking it into the tiny salad in front of him. “I believe its titled quinoa.” He replied, his eyes admiring the tiny bowl. “It’s similar to a Vulcan dish I grew up eating. It’s an incredibly sustainable and healthy grain.” Spock began to explain before McCoy cut in as he usually did with Spock. The interruption caused Spock to raise his eyes to the doctor unpleasantly.

"It’s also higher in fat which is good for a skinny guy like you Spock.” McCoy smirked, looking back at Jim for some support. He then scooped up the remaining contents of his soup.

“I am not a _skinny guy_ , as you like to refer to me as doctor. My weight is sufficient for my height, age, and species.” Spock explained to the doctor as if to inform him what he didn’t already know. McCoy only rolled his eyes.

“Busy day in sickbay?” Jim butted in, not from feeling ignored or awkward in the previous discussion but he could feel the irritation growing in Spock as the conversation continued. He didn’t want either one of his friends to lash out in the many ways they did in such situations.

McCoy wiped his mouth off on a napkin and then folded it up, “Not for everyone. As the chief medical doctor I have reports to fill, patients to see, operations to run. With that meeting I didn’t get to go through very many of my reports.” He looked between Jim and Spock.

“Yeah we were backed up from that meeting too.” Jim explained, “But it was informative none the less.”

“Agreed.” Spock replied, taking a fork full of his salad into his mouth.

Jim smiled at Spock, watching as his Vulcan friend took very precise and clean bites. None of the food dropped from his fork, none of it fell from his lips or got stuck on his face. He was polite, quiet and clean when he ate. Jim admired that.

“Informative? They just told us that this R3-493 group, or whatever the hell it’s called, needs specific boxes to carry that Renneral substance for beam up.” McCoy replied heatedly. He looked over at the captain in annoyance.

“RU-598 doctor.” Spock replied shortly, his attention never leaving the bowl in front of him.

“What?” McCoy raised his eyebrows, looking at Spock disapprovingly.

“The RU-598 project, not R3-493. The RU-598 project is an experimental project in the initial stages of designing a substance that will eradicate the need for dilithium crystals in a warp core engine.” Spock explained seriously. “The meeting was not just in regards to the method of transportation of the Renneral substance. It was a discussion regarding the project as a whole and the potential hazards regarding it.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes exasperatedly. “Potential hazards.” McCoy almost laughed as he leaned towards the Vulcan with an irritated glare. “They don’t even know what this Renneral _is._ They just discovered it. Now I want to know what makes them feel so good about bringing this stuff aboard.”

“Experimental substances always require caution doctor McCoy.” Spock replied blandly. His eyes never moving from the doctor’s eyes. “However it does not mean that it is a definite danger. It only means we must provide extreme caution when handling it. If science were to exist on an emotional basis such as fear, than there would be very little advancements in science.” Spock’s eyes were stationed on an invisible mark across the room.

“Don’t act like I don’t know that Spock.” McCoy lowered his brows, “Sometimes what you consider _inconvenient_ emotions…” McCoy stressed the words with his fingers in sarcastic quotations. “… often times assist the best advancements in science.” McCoy spat back at Spock, “Have you ever considered that?”

“McCoy.” Jim interrupted, “That’s beside the point. My men are going to be taking every precaution with this Renneral material.” Jim sighed. He had been listening to people talking about the RU-598 project for nearly four hours straight. He was getting tired of words like Renneral and experimental. He just wanted to pick up the research team, transport them and be done with the whole thing. Acting like a cargo ship was not why Jim joined the federation. “Our job is only to transport these researchers and their equipment from Stronos to Starbase. The research team assured us that the Renneral substance is very clean and very safe. Starfleet wouldn’t have the best ship transporting them if they thought otherwise.”

The doctor’s eyes were now steady on the captain as he tilted his head slightly. The wrinkles on his face relaxing as McCoy relaxed. “Well, I don’t know.” He rubbed his fingers off on the napkin he had previously wiped his mouth with. “As long as I don’t have to see any unusual amount of patients during this trip.” McCoy grumbled.

“Dr. Sovik stated that the Renneral is a harmless, soil like substance. He confidently reassured Starfleet that it will do no harm as the research team has been exposed to it for 3.4 years.” Spock explained. “Though I must confess that I am rather curious as to their results and procedural information.” Spock turned towards the captain and raised an eyebrow. Jim didn’t even realize Spock had eaten so quickly. Jim watched Spock place his fork into his empty bowl with a clang. Everything was gone from the bowl. Jim instinctually smiled at his first officer.

McCoy rolled his eyes again, “I’m done with this conversation.” He carried his tray up with him as he stood. “You two have a nice discussion about Renneral, or chess, or whatever the hell you two manage to talk about for hours.” He looked at Jim closely. “I’ve got reports to complete.”

As the doctor lethargically trudded off to the disposal center where he dropped the contents of his meal, Jim finally moved around the table to where McCoy was previously sitting. He was now across from Spock and was now able to see his calm and cool, expressionless face.

Spock did not allow for McCoy’s words to affect him. Instead he sat at the table politely with one hand gently massaging his other hand’s palm. His eyebrows narrowed from the massaging sensation.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked with a mouth full of chicken stir fry. He licked his lips to try and remain as clean and proper as Spock had throughout his meal.

“I am currently seated, remaining here until you have completed the contents of your meal.” Spock explained, still thoroughly massaging the pale skin of his hand. Suddenly his expression became much more defensive as he gave himself some time to reconsider his captain’s words. “Unless you desire me to depart…”

“No. No that’s not what I meant.” He laughed, taking another large amount of the stir fry onto his fork. “I meant, with your hands.” He asked, motioning to Spock’s fingers. “Is it a deep Vulcan trait I’m not supposed to know about?” Jim asked with a smile. He stuffed the fork into his mouth carefully as to not spill the food from it.

He wasn’t sure why he was so curious about Spock’s movements. He felt as though either Spock was in some pain that he was currently trying to alleviate, or he was trying to stimulate the nerves on his fingers for something. He wasn’t sure which it was since there was no visible expressions from Spock to help guide him to a conclusion. All Jim knew was that Spock’s hands were not to be touched by others because of how deeply sensitive they were. Spock had never fully informed Jim of this, but Jim could put two and two together. He had seen Spock become deeply offended by others touching his hands.

Jim didn’t know the real reason why Spock didn’t appreciate having his hands touched by others, but he did know that Vulcans were touch telepaths. He knew that even Spock touching his own body elicited some type of telepathic response. He knew that the way Vulcan’s felts things were different then the way humans did. Similar to an animal with a sixth sense, Spock could react to the world through his sensitive finger tips. Jim found it incredibly fascinating.

Spock did not seem fascinated with Jim’s question. He looked at Jim with a somewhat muddled expression. His brow was raised and his eyes looked across Jim for some answer as to why he asked that question. Finally clueing in to his fingers he finally decided to respond. “Not everything connected with my skin is tied to my blood captain.” Spock reminded, ceasing his actions as soon as he had recognised them. He moved his hands to his lap where they were evenly placed on his knees.

Jim looked up from his meal to Spock’s concerned look. At first Jim feared that he possibly offended Spock, and that possibly he had just cut their evening short. He cleared his throat hesitantly. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat again from his growing discomfort. “I just, I want to make sure you’re ok. I know that your hands are really sensitive. I thought maybe you were in pain.”

He really didn’t have to ask. Though Jim’s heart might have been in the right place and innocent, it was still questionable as to whether or not it was a good question or not. Spock was free to do whatever he wanted without question on his species. He could tell that was what Spock wished to relay to Jim at that moment, but didn’t. Jim shouldn’t have asked, and now he was afraid he offended Spock.

The sound of Spock sighing brought Jim back from his thoughts. He looked back at Spock wearily, and afraid that possibly he had caused discomfort in Spock. The idea that he possibly made Spock feel like an outsider completely broke his heart.

Jim had knew that Spock had been an outsider for a great portion of his life. He knew that there were subtle insecurities below the strict and disciplined surface of the Vulcan. Jim probably knew better than any other person on the Enterprise, but it was still something Jim wasn’t completely confident in. There was still so much that Spock had kept to himself and so much that Jim wished he could reach in and find. To discover.

“Spock.” Jim dropped his fork in the bits and pieces that remained in his plate. “I didn’t mean to make you feel…” _Different. Separate. Awkward. Confronted. Sad._

“There is no need to apologize Jim.” Spock interrupted with sincerity. Jim was beginning to feel trapped in the endless emotions he could have possibly inflicted upon Spock. This was one of those rare occasions where Jim appreciated hearing the following words. “I am a Vulcan. I do not have emotions for you to offend.” Spock paused for a moment to look down at his hands which were gingerly sitting in his lap. “I was merely applying pressure to my palm due to the fact that I scraped my hand during my shift.”

Jim had finally stopped blushing and leaned further into the table so that he could ascertain to the injuries on his friend’s hand. “Lets see.” He mumbled as Spock placed his hand on top of the table palm up. The scar was not life threatening, in fact it wasn’t even worth seeing sickbay about. Jim could sense from the way that Spock had been handling it earlier that it was most definitely an uncomfortable location for a scratch like that.

The edges were a dark green colour and the surrounding skin look like a sickly greenish yellow. It made Jim wonder for a moment what it would feel like to have damage done to such delicately sensitive fingers.

“It doesn’t look to bad Mr. Spock.” Jim commented as he leaned back into his chair, his eyes now meeting with Spock’s dark eyes.

“I did not imply that it was serious damage. I merely stated that there had been an incident where my hand had been wounded.” Spock almost smirked at Jim’s over concern. “I’m sure I will survive this Jim.”

Jim smiled back at Spock, thanking his lucky stars that Spock had been lighthearted about Jim’s unfortunate human characteristics. Spock had always been forgiving when it came to things like that.

As soon as Jim stood up, Spock was following instantly, standing up a few inches taller than him, and moving around the table to where Jim was carrying his tray to dispose. They didn’t say a word. They had run into this constant routine of eating together, bringing their trays to the disposal and then heading out together to wherever. Jim enjoyed knowing that there was no longer a need to ask and invite. It made him feel confident knowing Spock chose to walk along with him and spend the time with him.

The two then proceeded out of the mess hall and into the hallway they had come in through. They passed the controversial spot where Jim had started singing to Spock and it brought a smile to Jim’s face. The look on Spock’s face when he had started dancing was completely priceless. If only he had a camera so that he could show Spock. He would remind Spock of that moment for years and years to come.

Once they reached the observation deck Jim moved over to the wall where a small device was fastened to the wall. Behind Jim, Spock was moving to where the window displayed the vast complexities of the space around their ship. His hands were casually clasped behind his shapely back. His hair reflective of the lights around them.

Jim placed his fingers against the small green light on the meter and began to raise it. The device spewed a number back at the captain which was agreeable. He had successfully raised the temperature to a comfortable degree for the both of them.

“I don’t know why it’s always so chilly in here.” Jim looked around the room slowly to double validate their privacy. Once the coast was clear, he turned to his first officer with an inviting smile and a warm gaze. Jim was always known for his famous warm smile, and he was flaunting it right now.

Spock held back the need to shiver. He tightly pierced his lips together before nodding softly. He did not know how to respond for once. Spock simply blamed the piercing cold for that, and nodded again.

“Are you cold?” Jim asked, trying to sound as uncaring as he could, but failed miserably. Though he attempted to understand how Spock was feeling while not coming across as overbearing, he still found a way to show Spock that he was obsessed with his comfort. Obsessed with his happiness and contentment.

Spock cautiously moved closer to Jim. A small wave of heat radiated off of Jim, which caused for Spock to turn slightly more towards his captain, his head turned downwards to Jim’s feet instead of the stars in front of them.

It felt like Jim had been luring a squirrel with only a few seeds and an acorn. Every time he got close to Spock like this he felt as though he were leaving tiny trails of goodies leading up to his palm, waiting and watching, and watching and waiting, until finally Spock made a promising gesture. Here Spock was eating from his hands.

Jim raised a hand from his side to where Spock’s hands were firmly placed on the small ledge beneath the window. He rested his hand so that the tips of their fingers lightly touched, and Spock shook inside without Jim even realizing it.

Eventually Spock raised his head up to look out into the starry abyss and tilted his head to the side away from Jim. Jim now had a perfect view of Spock’s jaw line and throat, perfectly exposed. It pained him how close he was to being able to reach out and feel the smooth surface of the green skin. How close he was to being able to feel the skin on his lips.

“Jim.” Spock finally spoke, his eyes reflective of the tiny lights outside the ship. He had not moved from his thoughtful position. He remained still and proper.

“Yes.” Jim answered almost in a whisper. He didn’t mean for it to come out like a whisper, but part of him did not mind that it had.

“Do you find me,” He paused for a moment, regaining full consciousness to his surroundings, including Jim. He turned his head to look at Jim confidently. “Unforgettable?”

The way he said it made Jim want to laugh, and it sounded as though if Spock were a human he would be laughing right along with Jim. The memory of how uncomfortable Spock had become to Jim’s serenading made Jim laugh.

The sound of Jim’s laughter caused Spock to grin. He turned his body so that he was now facing Jim entirely and could see the very human expression on his face representing joy. It instigated feelings of fondness within Spock.

Jim hummed a few notes of the song before laughing again and turning his head away from Spock.

_You unforgettable? Spock did you know that when I get up in the morning, I think about what we are going to do today? Do you know that I go to sleep laughing at your jokes? Do you realize that every time we are in the same room, I make sure I know where you are in the room at all times? I dream about you, I talk about you, I brag about you. It would be easier to count the moments I’m not thinking about you Spock. Fifty years down the road I’m sure I’ll still be bragging about Mr. Spock. Don’t ask me silly questions!_

He wanted to say that. He wanted to ramble Spock’s pointy little ears off of his head, but his mouth froze. Feelings of nervousness and anticipation mixed together in his midsection causing him to lose focus of his words. He hadn’t felt this way since high school.

Either the heat was rising, or Jim was about to do something brave. He felt the room growing hotter and hotter until Jim felt perspiration in his hands. An uncomfortable slickness that he was unable to fight in the Vulcan’s gaze.

" _Unforgettable, in every way. And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay.”_ Jim gave it his best Nat King impression which produced a lovely look of shy fondness from Spock. He even got a small smile from the Vulcan.

“Jim.” Spock tried to distract Jim from his singing.

Jim leaned forward, dragging his hand along so that his finally met with Spock’s hand. There was only inches in between them, and for a moment Jim was afraid that Spock’ Vulcan ears could hear his uncontrollable heart beating.

Their eyes waved up to one another, until Jim’s eyes fell onto Spock’s lips. He saw Spock close his mouth in favor of gulping nervously. He watched that perfectly shaped jaw line and licked his lips playfully before rubbing his thumb along the edge of Spock’s hand.

There were no cues as to how Spock was handling the close proximity. He only stood still and watched Jim’s every movement. His hands, his eyes, his lips, his shoulders, his body. It was all under Vulcan surveillance.

“Jim, I…” Spock sighed, as Jim leaned even closer into the Vulcan, their skin so close he could feel the heat coming from Spock.

Their lips so close. It would only take one hiccup for them to accidently fall into each other’s arms and meet. The thought both excited and scared Jim. He shook softly before extending his lips further.

The sound of the doors opening shocked Jim and Spock into moving a meter away from one another in a matter of seconds. The shock of almost being discovered caused a slight twinge of pain inside of Jim’s heart.

When Jim turned around towards the door he could see Janice and another yeoman were standing there with a smile on their faces. “Jim!” They laughed simultaneously. They moved into the room causing Jim to sweat harder than he had been moments before.

How much had they seen? Who would they tell next? What were they thinking and how on earth could Jim cover it up? Was it as obvious as Jim had thought? What would the crew think if they heard that their captain tried to kiss their first officer? Jim wasn’t sure what to say or do in response to it all. He simply shoved his hands behind his back. “Ladies.” He greeted. “I was… just speaking with Mr. Spock.” He insisted, his face red and warm.

Spock remained incredibly still and silent the entire time. He did not perspire or shake with nerves, he simply stood there as he always did at Jim’s side. He did however make an effort to avoid eye contact with the women standing before them.

“Don’t blush captain.” The burnette yeoman giggled, referencing Jim’s cherry red complexion. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

Spock cleared his throat for a moment, “We were discussing 20th century earth music that you ladies might be familiar with.” Spock offered in their defence. Jim appreciated how Spock did not leave it up to the captain to defend himself. Since Vulcan’s never lied, he was sure these woman would not question him.

“We know.” Janice laughed, looking briefly into Jim’s eyes with a small wink.

The gesture made Spock grow incredibly uncomfortable. He peered over to the clock that sat on the wall on the other end of the room. He tried to focus his mind and body on anything other than the uncomfortable situation playing out in front of him.

“You know?” _How much?_ He wanted to ask. _Are you disturbed? Are you scared?_

“Yeah, we heard you singing captain.” The brunette continued to push, both ladies grinning enormously.

“You’ve got talent captain.” Janice replied with a giggle.

Jim and Spock instantly looked towards each other in relief. It was not as serious as they had first believed. Jim knew he would have to stress to his first officer how convenient it was that he had been singing to him. He made a mental note to bring it up the next time he got close to Spock. Whenever that would be.

Spock almost smiled as he inched his body away from the humans around him. “Excuse me, I must be heading to my quarters for rest and meditation.” He nodded towards the ladies in the room, and then turned to his captain with a fond grin. “Captain.”

“Spock.” Jim replied shortly, his eyes warm and caring for the Vulcan.

Part of Jim wanted to reach out for his arm and hold him back. He wanted to tell the women to give them a moment, and then finish what he started. The other side of him was thanking the heavens above that they were not caught. The part of him that wanted to hold Spock in his arms outweighed the need to let him walk. However, Jim watched Spock’s slim figure exit the room quickly.

It was unclear whether or not Spock had accepted Jim’s efforts. There was still a large part of Spock that was still inaccessible to Jim and he found that frustrating. He needed Spock to open up, to let him in and show him everything he was hiding. He needed to know that part of him, and if he was not allowed to, then he wanted to know that too.

In that moment, Jim couldn’t manage to dwell on the uncertain or the daunting reality of his position with Spock. The reality being that Spock was a Vulcan, and he was a human. There would be no way in hell that Jim would know what Spock thought about him, or about a potential relationship between the both of them.

For now he could only smile and think to himself. Thoughts about him and Spock crashing their mouths together against the glass separating the observation deck and the iciness of space. Thoughts of Jim undressing Spock right there on the floor and raving his first officer desperately. Thoughts he was certain he would be dreaming about that very night.

Still, one thought seemed to stick out among the rest and Jim couldn’t help but laugh a little to himself as he thought about it over and over again…

“ _Hmm…_ _Mr. Spock might like serenades after all.”_


	2. I Blame Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song called “Gravity” by Soul Decision.
> 
> I hope you all like this chapter! I promise my future uploads will come a lot faster! : ) 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper friends. <3

**I Blame Gravity**

CEM

  
  
All morning Jim had been humming to himself. From the moment he’d woken up, from his shower, to the lengthy walk to the mess hall he had been humming his silly Vulcan love song. It surprised Jim that he wasn’t completely sick of that song yet. He figured it had something to do with the fact that every time he hummed a few notes he could see Spock’s first reaction to it back in the hall way yesterday

As Jim entered the mess hall, he noticed Scotty standing near the replicators with a few of his engineers standing near him, each of them working on a replicator in sync with Scotty.

“You’ll have to readjust the heat capacitor or else she’ll over heat when we take the head out,” Scotty informed the men in his thick Scottish accent. Instantly each of the engineers began readjusting the capacitors in accordance to Scotty’s directions. It never ceased to amaze Jim how close Scotty was with each of his crew members. He truly made an attempt to know each of his men by name, a bit of their history and possibly share a drink with them. Every time Jim saw Scotty, he was always educating his young crew members, improving their work performance or lending a hand. Jim wished he had the same patience with all his crew. 

Being captain was a big job. Though Jim tried to make sure he got to speak with all the crew at least once, it was difficult to know each one by name. He simply did not have the time. Between his long and lengthyshifts, working out, sleeping, and his chess matches with Spock, he was at a loss for time.

“Mr. Scott,” Jim voiced confidently to the man hunched over with his head basically inside the door of the replicator.

“Capt’n,” Scotty jumped slightly, and literally brought his head out of his work to look at his captain. “What can I do for ye t’day.” He grinned thoughtfully at Jim as usual.

Jim knew, that if he ever felt down, he could always count on Mr. Scott for a smile. He was almost always smiling, that is until something goes wrong on the ship. When something was amiss aboard the enterprise, nobody dared trifle with Scotty. He could get real ugly when his darling ship was in the red. Jim could not believe anyone aboard loved that ship more than him and Scotty. But Scotty had a unique connection with her. He knew the ship inside and out like a he had created her himself out of spit and wire. Scotty loved this ship like one would love a child.

Jim smiled warmly at the man. “What’s this all about?” He asked, andpoint ~~ed~~ out all the men in red shirts who were now pulling the replicators apart. He then looked back at Scotty with a curious gaze.

“Oh,” Scotty started, “The replicators have been on the frits all mornin’. We’ve been getting calls since 0300 about fire hazards and food coming out like piles of gelatin sir,” He finished worriedly.Even when a situation was not severe or even required much attention, Scotty was troubled. He would give the issue his utmost attention until it was solved. Similar to the way that Spock focussed on a physics problem; he would sit down and work it out until every possible answer was reached. He seemed to think about the issue even when it appeared he wasn’t. Jim knew he could always count on Scotty to give 100%, and a wee bit more at times.

“I see,” Jim replied with a nod. He walked further towards the busy. “I was hoping you were debugging the synthesized chicken.” Jim chuckled, and gained himself a few laughs from the working crew.

Mr. Scott casually joined the laughter, “I’m no miracle worker sir.” He smiled thoughtfully again.

Jim returned the smile with a hint of his infamous Kirk charm. “That chicken definitely needs more than a miracle,” He then halted beside one of the cadets. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Kirk noted, eyeing the individual through squinting eyes. He was trying to attach the face with a name, but he couldn’t even remotely hazard a guess.

“No sir, I was just transferred last week,” The cadet answered professionally and stood up straighter. He was much different than the other young men Jim had met in the past. Most of them were very shy and held back from the captain at first. This officer was acting as though he had served under Jim for years. He was comfortable, relaxed, confident, and that impressed Jim.

“I’m training these men capt’n,” Scotty intervened, his arms stuck inside the replicators once again. “This seems like a simple enough task for them, don’t ya think?”

“I trust you’re right, Mr. Scott,” Quickly Jim diverted his attention back to the young man. “Well then I suppose we should make this official. I’m Captain James Kirk,” He nodded once to the officer and was rewarded with a nod back.

“I’m officer Miles.” The man had a very endearing smile, one he was certain would reel in the ladies real quick. Jim tried not to let it intimidate him. He wasn’t sure at first why it had intimidated him for a moment, but he dismissed it as one of his personality flaws. Another inconvenient human response as Spock would explain it.

Jim turned to the others, greeting them individually as well until he reached the last one. Finally reaching the last one, Jim swiveled on the heel of his boot, turning to look at the crew with high regards. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time on the Enterprise. She’s a beautiful ship,” Jim insisted before looking back at Scotty.

“She sure is,” Mr. Scott was beaming with joy as they referenced the Enterprise as if it were a living, breathing being. Like the ship was a symbol of his flesh and blood, his sweat and tears. Jim tried to figure out what part of that wasn’t true. The ship’s engines practically ran on just that. Scotty’s sweat and tears.

“Well, carry on then, men,” Jim dismissed, and turned back towards the door he’d entered from.            Just as the captain reached the door he turned back towards Scotty and his men, who were reaching into the replicators. “Scotty, you’ll have to try and finish that up by this afternoon before our _special guests_ arrive.” Jim notified. “I want everything in tip top shape when they beam aboard.”

“Aye sir. Should only take us an hour or two.” Scotty replied. “Everything will be better than it was when we’re through here.”

“I expect that Mr. Scott. Carry on,” Jim nodded before exiting the room for good.

Since the replicators were out of order that morning Jim would have to return to his quarters, replicate a meal, and then head up to the bridge and begin his shift. Jim knew that the journey to his quarters wasn’t too far from the bridge, but it was still an inconvenience. On a regular day, that would have bothered the captain. He would have possibly skipped breakfast, proceeded to the bridge and asked the yeoman to go fetch him something. However, this morning Jim felt rejuvenated. He’dhad a good rest, pleasant dreams, and a fantastic night between him and his first officer. Jim was in a great mood.

He only made it half way to his quarters when he saw the exact pointed ears he had been thinking of all morning. Beautiful green-tinged ears curved into perfection.

Spock had turned the corner with his head looking down towards his hand attentively. His other hand supporting the back of it. It took him a few moments to realize he had almost walked head first into the captain. He was almost shocked when Jim grabbed him by the shoulders to stop him from the predictable accident.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim greeted lightly, eyeing Spock’s hand momentarily until Spock clasped it shut and placed it behind his back respectfully. Their eyes met, and Jim could literally see a shade of green cover the Vulcan’s face. _Was Spock blushing?_

“Captain Kirk,” He greeted stoically. “Are you proceeding to the bridge for your morning shift?” Spock asked without moving a muscle. His eyes were steady on the captain.

“No,” Jim replied, “I was on my way to my quarters to eat actually.”

“Ah, I see.” Spock replied, looking above Jim’s head at a few red shirts who were gathering in between two rooms and laughing. His Vulcan ears could easily pick up the conversation behind Jim, but he never enjoyed eaves dropping. However the laughter from the humans caused some uneasiness inside him. “I will then meet you on the bridge following your meal.” Spock concluded before attempting to move past Jim.

“And where are you headed?” Jim asked, turning around to face Spock as he moved. He didn’t want to Vulcan to escape him that easily. He didn’t really want him to escape _ever._

Spock turned to face the captain again. “I am proceeding to the mess hall for what you humans refer to as breakfast. I had a lengthy meditation session last night and earlier this morning which has made me quite famished,” He explained to Jim, thinking the conversation was over until Jim lightly pulled a piece of the material on Spock’s tunic to get his attention back. Spock turned back to face Jim, and looked down at the spot Jim had just pulled on his uniform.

“The replicators are on the frits again Spock.” Jim explained, watching a bit of hesitation in his friend’s face.

“On the _frits_ captain?” Spock questioned slowly. He shifted his feet to face Jim, casually raising an eyebrow to indicate his confusion even further.

“Out of order Spock,” Jim clarified. It wasn’t that Jim forgot that Spock had troubles with colloquialisms from earth, it was more that Jim enjoyed watching Spock struggle. Call it a sick form of entertainment, but Jim truly enjoyed teaching Spock and learning with him. It was partly the satisfaction of watching Spock retain new information as well as Jim feeling confident in himself that he knew something that Spock didn’t know for a change. Jim was selfish like that sometimes.

“Ah.” Spock replied, nodding. There was a hint of discontent in the Vulcan’s eyes. Perhaps the look was from hunger. Spock did have an extremely small dinner last night, and it was the only thing he had eaten. Jim knew that Vulcans could go days without eating or drinking, but there was no denying the disappointment in Spock’s eyes.

Unless perhaps Spock was disappointed for other reasons. There was the possibility that Jim disrupting their morning routine by not eating with Spock in the mess hall was bothersome to Spock. Maybe, just maybe, this was Spock’s Vulcan way of telling Jim that he wanted to spend that time with Jim.

“Come with me Spock,” Jim smiled, walking down the hall a bit. Spock followed close behind the captain as he usually did. “My replicator is working fine. Why don’t we grab some food from my quarters?”

Spock thought for a moment as they walked, his lip in a thoughtful pout. “That would be agreeable captain.” Spock gratefully glanced at Jim, his brow raised. Jim felt an illogical need to press Spock up against the wall and kiss the Vulcan.

Very quickly they reached Jim’s quarters, both of them familiar with the entering procedure of Jim’s quarters. There was more security measures when it came to entering the commanding officer’s sleeping cabin. There was just too many risks to owning such a high rank. Though they never really had troubles in the past, it was better to be safe than sorry.

As Jim fumbled to open his quarters, Spock eyed his own for a moment which was situated right beside Jim’s. Spock was thankful that their sleeping living areas were so close together since it meant that he did not have to travel far to visit with Jim. Though they had an entire ship to share together, there was something nice about how their area reserved only for them. To relax, to talk, to think, to play chess.

The doors opened with a wooshing noise, and both Spock and Jim entered the quarters. Spock thought for a moment before entering whether he should invite Jim over to his quarters instead. The very seldom visited Spock’s quarters. Just as soon as the idea came into Spock’s head, it was quickly shooed away. He remembered the last time Jim entered his quarters he had entered without realizing that Spock had set his quarters to settings that were much like the atmosphere settings on Vulcan. The air was thin, warm, and the gravity was slightly stronger than the rest of the ship. Jim had injured his knee from entering to carelessly, and he spent the rest of the time miserable from the heat. Jim and Spock vowed that perhaps they would spend more time in Jim’s quarters than in Spock’s. It was safer that way.

Jim was already punching codes into the replicator and ordering his own meal when Spock finally agreed to use Jim’s replicator. He watched as Jim eyed the controls to the machine, “What do you want to eat Spock?” Jim asked, his eyes still on the replicator.

Spock pursed his lips for a moment in thought. He was always so unsure of what to order when it came to meal time. There were so many options and so little logic to deciding between them. “What will you be eating this morning Jim?” Spock asked, trying to view the code that Jim had entered into the machine for his own meal.

Jim smirked at Spock, “You wouldn’t like it.” Jim replied with a smile, wanting so bad to wink at Spock. However he remembered the last time he winked at Spock he had to explain to him that he didn’t have something in his eye and that it was just an illogical thing humans did.

“Does it contain any form of animal bi-products in it?” Spock asked with his eyebrow raised. There was an apathetic tone to his question.

“It’s pretty much just animal bi-products Spock,” Jim blushed slightly.

The replicators on the Enterprise offered many options. It would have been contradictory if they hadn’t. The RU-598 research team was not the first group that the Enterprise had to transport from one side of the galaxy to the other, the Enterprise had done that many times. Since they never knew who they were going to pick up next, they needed to keep the food variety as wide as possible.

Spock eyed the code and nodded to himself. Spock was always respectful of others among the ship and made no hostile attempts to alter the rituals of other cultures. Unless provoked or questioned, Spock would not offer his opinion on the matter of food. He simply did not find it was his place nor was shoving the issue down other people’s throat an effective way of promoting the cause. Spock simply stood before his captain nodding. He learned to accept the differences between earth and Vulcan a long time ago, no matter how much he despised some of the differences.

Jim watched as Spock tried to concern himself with his own meal so that it might distract him from Jim’s choice of bacon and eggs. Jim thought for a moment. “Would it bother you if I ate bacon and eggs?” Jim asked thoughtfully.

Spock raised an eyebrow as if he were not expecting the captain to ask. “Bother me?” Spock questioned, prompting Jim to nod. Spock thought on the question for a moment before answering in the negative. “It is impossible to be bothered where emotion is not present captain,” He sounded convincing.

Efficiently, Spock punched in the code for his own meal. He then turned to the captain with an eyebrow raised, “I prefer a plant based meal myself. However you are free to consume whatever you believe fits your dietary needs.”               

Jim’s eyes hovered over Spock’ features, and ended on his eyes. Both of them looked into one another’s eyes for roughly 20 seconds before Jim deleted his order, and programmed the computer to double Spock’s order. One for Spock, and one for Jim.

“Captain, it was not my intention to persuade you into altering your choices for this morning’s meal,” Spock almost looked sympathetic for a moment as the captain’s finger rested above the replicate button.

Jim pushed the button in and gave Spock a smile as the replicator went hard at work. “I know Mr. Spock,” The replicator dinged as it finished its preparations. “I want to eat whatever you planned on eating.”

Spock raised an eyebrow humorously at the captain. Jim wasn’t sure what he had done to get such a reaction from Spock, but he was delighted that he did.

“As you wish,” Spock replied while he pursed his lips together. Jim had now come to understand that was a way of Spock showing he was nervous.

“So what’s on the menu?” Jim asked, looking into the replicator. His eyes looking somewhat dumbfounded at the sight of his newly prepared meal. He raised his eye brows.

Two bowls were inside the replicator which looked to be a thick spongey  texture only with a tinge of pink. It was filled with bits and pieces of various colours of yellows, greens, reds, and oranges. They looked like peppers but Jim could not be certain about that.

Carefully Spock pulled the tray from out of the replicator and brought it to a table nearby. The look of entertainment did not leave the Vulcan’s face. He simply watched Jim eyeing the food, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a smirk for a moment while the captain’s attention was diverted.

“What’s this?” Jim questioned again. Now that the bowls were removed from the replicator and was out in the open, Jim could see the details of the substance a little clearer. He took one of the forks hastily and probed the suspicious food cautiously. He could see an almost gelatinous liquid covering the chunky sponge. Jim also noticed that the portions were much smaller than he had expected.

“Ihntya,” Spock responded as he watched his captain’s expression regarding the new meal before him. Like a child seeing a plate of Brussel sprouts for the first time, Jim’s expression was somewhat insecure.

Quickly Spock tried to reform his smirk into his infamous Vulcan stare. He was now watching as the captain straightened his back out and looked towards Spock with an uneasy smile.

“Sounds exotic,” Jim laughed before taking a seat. He motioned for Spock to do the same.

Spock took the seat across from him at the small table Jim barely ever used in his quarters. The only times he made use of that table was when he and his Vulcan friend decided to play chess and were not up for playing it in the company of others. Whenever they wanted a cool and relaxed game, they headed to the captain’s quarters with their arms full of the chess pieces and the chess board, and they played in the silence of Jim’s room. It was always peaceful, sometimes tight, but Jim never complained as long as he was in the company of his favourite first officer.

“I had no intention of you ordering this dish, Jim,” Spock informed as he poked his own fork into the bowl and pulled some of the strange substance into his mouth. Jim noticed that upon lifting the food up with the fork, tiny strings were left behind it, as if it were like cheese stringing in between the bowl and the fork. Jim could not wrap his mind around the physics of the meal in front of him.

“If you wish, I can replicate the meal you desired earlier,” Spock replied, replied while looking down at the untouched bowl in front of his captain.

Jim caught Spock’s bashful eyes. Perhaps he was insulting the Vulcan by not partaking in the meal instantly like Spock had done. However, Jim could not fathom the appeal for the lumpy pile in his bowl. He couldn’t understand where to begin.

“I’m surprised at you Spock,” Jim smiled, lowering his eyebrows in a mock scolding fashion. “I’m the captain of the top Starfleet ship and explore the galaxy for undiscovered planets and civilization, and you think I’m too afraid to try your Vulcan…” Jim tried to find the right word to describe the strange bowl in front of him. His mind struggled to find the right word that would both describe the meal sufficiently and be polite.

“Ihntya,” Spock offered the captain with a raised eyebrow. He placed another fork full into his mouth. “It is a Vulcan dish that my father preferred in the mornings. I wished to offer you some as a sample before you irrationally chose to order it for yourself,” Spock watched Jim pull a fork full from the bowl and pause.

 _Spock wanted to share his meal with me?_ Jim thought to himself with a smile. He envisioned Spock before him with a spoonful of the gunk, and bringing the spoon to his lips. The thought of Spock feeding him anything, even the stuff in front of him, was arousing. The fact that Vulcans were very sterile beings who probably did not share food like that often, made the fantasy even more tempting.

“Jim?” Spock finally questioned, watching as Jim was completely frozen with his mouth slightly a gape and watching Spock across the table. The sound of Spock’s voice brought Jim out of his fantasy, reminding him that he had missed the opportunity to share Spock’s food and that he was about half way to feeding himself the strange alien food.

Jim inched the food closer to his mouth, smelling a strange mixture of something sweet like syrup, and then something spicy like paprika.

‘ _This will be interesting to say the least’_ , Jim thought to himself. The fork finally met with his lips and he could feel the mucus texture in his mouth. It slithered around his tongue like slime tasting as he had expected, like a cinnamon syrup. Aside from the texture it was actually quite delicious. “Mm.” Jim commented, raising both eyebrows as he smacked his lips together to try and taste all the lingering flavours. There were hints of the spice he smelt earlier, and it conflicted slightly with the cinnamon flavour which Jim found quite arousing for his taste buds.

“You find Ihntya pleasing?” Spock questioned as he attentively watched Jim swirl his fork around the bowl in search of another hardy fork full.

“I do,” Jim replied while licking his lips.

Spock leaned across the table to peer into his captain’s bowl making Jim’s heart race from the increased proximity. Jim’s heart began to race slightly since Spock’s face came so close to his own. Again, he was so close to his first officer’s green tinged skin that he could lean forward a fraction and taste it. He could reach forward and touch the skin. If Jim thought Ihntya was delicious now he could only imagine how much more delicious it would be tasting it on Spock’s lips.

Jim leaned forward an inch so that their foreheads were nearly brushing against each other. Heat radiated off of Spock which Jim instantly picked up. He could also catch the faintest smell of his first officer among the bowl below their faces.

Spock smelt good and Jim could only imagine he tasted even better.

Inching to get his lips closer to Spock’s greenish skin, Spock finally turned his face up towards Jim’s, nearly hitting their noses together as he did so. “Jim, might I offer you some advice?” He finally spoke.

“Yes,” Jim huffed. He had no idea he was breathing so hard until he started speaking. He couldn’t risk speaking again now that their faces were so close. If he did, Spock would surely hear the desperateness in his voice and Jim knew he would be helpless to explain it.

Spock removed the fork from Jim’s fingers, and from that action Jim could feel Spock’s soft fingers. Warmth, sincerity, and purpose. His touch encompassed so much in the brief seconds they met. Jim could not fathom a response to the sensation without sounding completely out of his mind. He settled for a quiet whimper.

“Ihntya is a mixture of many Vulcan produce that when combined together creates a very dry wheat substance, similar to your earth bread,” Spock began to explain as he carefully began mixing the contents of Jim’s bowl together, causing the food to look less like mucus and more like an omelette substance. “It is the the’polau mun that gives the Ihntya moisture and binds it into an omelette structure.” Spock raised his eyebrows at Jim as he gathered a clump of the newly mixed substance and handed Jim the fork.

Jim took the fork from Spock’s hands, once again making the attempt to brush their fingers together in the process. As soon as Jim had touched he could feel his fingers against Spock’s and for a moment he could have sworn he saw a shiver come from the Vulcan.

Finally Spock pulled his hand form the fork and settled back down into his seat as he watched Jim’s expression to give him an idea of how successful the Ihntya was.

Once again giving the Ihntya another try, Jim placed the now firm substance into his mouth and was overwhelmed by the contrasting flavours.The texture was thick, moist, slightly slimy still, but tasted remarkable. The spice and the sweet syrupy taste combined into an almost creamy flavour.

“This is incredible,” Jim tried to speak and taste the new flavours on his tongue. He was so blown away at how similar this dish was to the one we was about to replicate moments ago. His eyes were set on Spock who was almost grinning at the captain.

“You are surprised?” Jim didn’t need to look at Spock to know that the Vulcan rose his eyebrow at him. However he would have never suspected the small smirk that was growing on his seemingly emotionless friend.

“No,” Jim replied after swallowing down another fork full. “It’s actually really good Spock.”

The only response Jim received from Spock was a sincere nod. The two of them continued their meal for a few moments in silence. Jim was still entirely overcome by the astonishing flavours from the Vulcan dish he was nearly finished.

“This is truly incredible.” Jim reiterated with his mouth full. He scooped the last bit of the pinkish substance and swallowed it down as soon as it had entered his mouth. He never thought he would be this impressed by Vulcan cuisine. He and Bones often joked about it when Spock wasn’t looking, but now that he tried a good portion of Vulcan food, he was pleasantly surprised.

Spock still had a bit more to go, which didn’t bother Jim in the slightest. They both woke up fairly early that morning and were not expected on the bridge for a few more minutes. He could risk staying and watching his friend finish his food. He definitely didn’t mind.

Somehow Spock managed to remain graceful as he stuffed his mouth. His very prominent and shapely jawline moved rhythmically with his chewing which caused Jim to sigh to himself. Spock was a work of art. There was literally nothing in the entire universe like him. He was honored that he had the opportunity to know Spock.

The memory of Spock in the hall that morning came back into Jim’s mind. When he almost ran into the Vulcan, he recalled the way that Spock was looking at his hand. From what Jim remembered, it was also the same hand in which Spock had cut himself the previous day. Jim felt a current of guilt wash over him at the thought of forgetting to ask Spock of his injury. How could he be so careless?

“Spock,” Jim began as he watched Spock’s hand resting under the table while his left hand did all of the work of eating. It was just like Spock to physically hide his injuries from his captain. As Bones would say, _stubborn Vulcan_. “How’s your hand?”

“Satisfactory Jim,” Spock replied quickly while also picking up the pace in his eating. “I believe we have only hours until we make orbital contact with the planet Stronos captain,”

There was one thing that Jim knew about Spock better than anyone else. When Spock was determined for a subject change, he made every attempt to do so. If he did not like where a conversation was heading, in his own Vulcan way, he would completely divert the conversation without anyone being the wiser. It was a special skill Jim had come to recognize from years of experience with the Vulcan.

“No,” Jim laughed, “We’re talking about your hand now,” Jim stood up and moved around the table so that he was standing next to Spock. Without showing desperation, Spock tried not to look up at the captain. Instead he placed both hands into his lap and glared across the room blankly.

“Let me see it.” Jim pressed, looking down at the hands in between Spock’s thighs. Why was Spock always so ashamed of his injuries? He had seen far worse on Spock throughout their time together. There had been a time when both of them had been nearly assassinated after beaming down to a planet which was thought to be completely deserted. Both of them received minor concussions and a stab wound near the shoulder area. As Jim recalled, that afternoon in sickbay was one of the first personal conversations Jim had with Spock. They had spoken about Gary Mitchell since his death had occurred only months before that incident. Jim vaguely heard Spock speak about the Enterprise’s previous journeys under Pike’s command, and it had thoroughly intrigued Jim. That had been one of the very few occasions where Jim enjoyed himself in the sickbay. He had seen Spock in his best as he saw the heart that Spock truly had when he spoke about Gary Mitchell and his previous captain. As well Jim also saw Spock in his worst, when he watched the Vulcan gritting his teeth in pain, biting out a nurses and doctors who tried to tend to his wounds that he insisted he would heal himself. It was entertaining at times. Jim couldn’t imagine Spock’s hand was any worse than those injuries they had obtained that day.

Spock found no use in fight with the emotional human at his side, and he brought his hand up to Jim’s view. His eyes trailing up his hand and then over to Jim’s eyes which were now examining Spock’s palm.

The cut had gotten infected clearly, and Jim wasn’t sure why. Usually Vulcan’s were able to meditate their injuries, and speed up healing with it. He wasn’t sure why Spock hadn’t taken more care of his hand. “Spock?” He questioned just above a whisper and glanced up to catch Spock’s intense gaze. “Does it hurt?” Jim asked simply.

Spock shrugged. “It is not that serious Jim.” He sighed, bringing his hand closer to himself so he could inspect it.

“It looks worse than yesterday Spock!” Jim replied with shock.

Spock simply nodded. “Yes.” He then closed his hand, wincing from the struggle to do so. “This morning I unfortunately cut my hand on a jagged corner of my shelf. That is why I was not present in the mess hall earlier.” Spock explained to Jim.

It would have been impossible to miss the sheer look of disappointment on Spock’s face. He looked sincerely discouraged by what he was admitting to Jim. Jim could only assume that it had something to do with the inner struggle Spock so often dealt with. His human half warring with the human half constantly and tiresomely.

“It’s ok,” Jim mumbled quietly, reaching his hand out to Spock’s. However Jim didn’t get the chance to make contact since Spock instantly flinched his hand away and stood up. “I will simply tend to the cut myself on my break. If we reside in your quarters any longer we will be late for our shift on the bridge sir.”

Jim cleared his throat, feeling awkward from his failed attempt to touch Spock’s hands again. He should have known better. Spock didn’t like to be touched, and he could only imagine how much he didn’t want to be touched while injured on his hand.

“That’s a bad place to get a cut Spock,” Jim continued, his eyes still sympathising with Spock’s palm. “It’s going to keep opening up when you close your hand,” Jim followed Spock up to where he was setting both the captain and his own bowl into the disposal area. Spock did not reply right away.

“This is true captain, but as a Vulcan I will heal it on my own in time,” Spock replied by raising an eyebrow. “Now we must continue to the bridge captain.”

That was that. Spock had decided that conversation was over and was now half way out the door. There was no hostility in his brisk movements, but as Jim had learned over the years, when Spock was done with a topic, he was done with it. It was especially true when it came to the subject of his heritage. Spock didn’t like to talk about his biology unless it was in reference to its superiority among humans. Jim never truly understood why Spock was like that, but it was just the way things were with him.

With that, both of them were headed to the bridge quickly. They didn’t talk much on their way up but it was not awkward for either of them. They simply joined the bridge and separated to their stations. Jim in his chair and Spock at his scanner.

“Captain,” Yeoman Janice greeted with a smile. She handed Jim the PADD for him to sign off on. It was the first bit of duty Jim had to complete when he got on the bridge, and he was thankful that he had a yeoman to remind him of it every time.

“Thank you yeoman,” He smiled handing her the signed copy back.

“Did you manage to get some breakfast sir? The replicators are non-operative in the mess hall,” She informed sweetly as she tucked the PADD behind her back. She waited patiently for Jim to reply.

“I did,” Jim didn’t like having a yeoman pry into his every piece of personal business. When yeoman’s started hovering it was like a fly buzzing constantly around his head. Jim could watch out for himself. He _did,_ after all look after 430 other men and women aboard his ship.

With that being said, Jim appreciated yeoman Janice among every other yeoman he ever had. When he requested coffee, she always knew what he meant. Typically with other yeoman’s, at the request of coffee he would receive one of the artificial duplicates from the replicator that tasted like mud. Though other crew members aboard the bridge had said they were quite fond of the replicated coffee, Jim couldn’t disagree more. If there was something Jim hated more than replicated chicken, it was replicated coffee. Janice however made every batch of coffee herself. She would grind the beans up some time in the morning, brew the coffee and send it to Jim, black with two sugars, the way he liked it. For that, Jim really appreciated her.

There was a great deal more to Janice Rand than just a good cup of Joe. Jim appreciated the finer things about her, like the way she managed to hover without sounding like she was hovering at all. She was able to lighten up, have fun, and yet boss Jim around at times. Jim accepted the challenge every now and then, and appreciated it since it kept him in line more often than not (he’d like to think).

“One thing actually,” Jim interrupted just as Janice was about to go to her station where she would go through Jim’s schedule and update it on some new events that had been added due to the RU-598 project. She turned around instantly and was at Jim’s side within seconds.

“Yes captain?” She questioned professionally, with a hint of affection. She tried to raise her chest just a bit as if she were inhaling, and holding onto the air. Jim knew the rotten attempt was to draw some attention to her very shapely figure. He couldn’t deny that it wasn’t tempting.

“How about a cup of coffee,” He smiled thankfully at her.

Janice’s chest dropped slightly before smiling. “Yes sir.” She then turned back towards the lift and within a few minutes she was on her way to make some coffee for Jim and the rest of the crew. It was most likely already brewing somewhere in the ship.

Kirk swivelled his chair towards his helmsman’s direction. He could see the back of his head as he usually did. The black hair reminding him of his best friend in the entire world. It was becoming one of his most favourite hair colours in the universe.

“Mr. Sulu, how long until we have orbital contact with Stronos?” He asked professionally, his eye jumping from the back of Sulu’s head to the screen before them where plenty of stars slowly passed over them. He never got bored of that sight.

Sulu turned his upper half slightly so that he could crank his head towards the right and make eye contact with his commanding officer. “Estimated time, 3 hours sir,” He then refocused himself on his station before him.

Jim nodded at Sulu before swiveling his chair into the opposite direction where Spock was hunched over his scanner peacefully. One of his hands tucked behind his back as it usually was. “Mr. Spock,” Jim interrupted, stepping out of his chair and heading towards Spock. He tried not to allow his vision to take in the sight of his first officer’s very visually appealing backside. It was proving to be a difficult task.  “Have you arranged for guest quarters?” He asked, his gaze once again hovering over the black Starfleet pants hugging Spock’s body perfectly.

Spock turned his head back to face the captain, “I have.” Spock answered as he straightened himself out and removed the ear piece from his pointed ear so that the captain had his undivided attention. “If all has been going according to plan, the quarters should be cleaned out and well-equipped for guests,” Spock explained.

“Very good.” Jim and Spock shared a look of contentment before Jim heard the bridge doors open again with Janice standing in the opening with a tray of little white cups. She hadn’t even stepped onto the bridge and Jim could already smell the awakening aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He felt more exhilarated than he already had been feeling before.

From behind Janice another familiar face emerged onto the bridge.

“McCoy, would you care for a cup of coffee?” Janice offered, picking one of the cups up and holding it out for McCoy to grab. The smile never faded from the woman’s face.

McCoy returned the smile and accepted the cup graciously. He lifted it to his lips, testing the flavours in his mouth. “That’s a darn good cup of coffee Ms. Rand,” He sipped the cups once again, “You made this yourself?” McCoy asked, raising his eyebrows as he always did when impressed.

“I did doctor. It’s been brewing all morning, the old fashioned way,” She blinked sweetly before returning to her previous task of bringing her beloved captain his morning jitter juice.

“A woman after my own heart,” McCoy quipped after the woman.

When she made it to Jim, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were interrupting something. Both Spock and Jim were looking at her with all their attention. Jim’s look was something between thankful and relief, while Spock’s was something more predatory. She couldn’t understand it, though she also never really understood Spock at all.

In fact when Janice had first met the half Vulcan, she had nearly dropped one of her favourite mugs. She had been in the rec room with Uhura when she first seen him, sipping a cup of tea. He had entered the rec room like a praying cat, pointed ears and all. There was a haunting presence to his appearance, and as he sauntered in, she had become incredibly intimidated. There had been rumors circulating about the Vulcan when she joined the enterprise, one of the most popular ones being that he had the ability to read minds. And even though Uhura had quickly put those rumors to rest she still had the sneaking suspicion that they weren’t rumors at all. She had a feeling that there was something to that Vulcan stare that wasn’t all that innocent.

“Captain.” She greeted, avoiding eye contact with Spock at all costs. She handed him the specially marked cup which she had specifically prepared for him. It always made her feel incredible to see her captain take that first sip and savour.

Sip and savour he did, and the feeling of relief washed over her as Jim smacked his lips together pleasantly, “Ah,” He placed a hand on the yeoman’s shoulder and began rubbing it tenderly. “That’s one of the best cups of coffee I’ve ever had.”

The glare from Spock intensified on the yeoman as she blushed from her captain’s affection. When she finally came to realize the look of animosity from Spock, she quickly transferred her look of relief to complete fear. It was as if Spock was reading her mind right at that second.

“M… Mr Spock, would you like a cup as well?” She asked, knowing well and good that Spock would answer in the negative. She had made the mistake of offering him coffee a year ago, and he had told Janice that he was not thirsty and that he did not wish for her to wait on him. He said it was not her place to serve him. It was the first lecture she had received from the Vulcan, and she didn’t find the experience very enjoyable. When she told the captain of her and Spock’s altercation, he simply laughed and told her _“You should have known better Ms. Rand_ ”. She never asked Spock another question which seemed to suit both of them just fine.

There had been another unfortunate incident that she had heard regarding Spock. She had visited sick bay one evening to find Christine Chapel with tears streaming down her face and concerned nurses hovering around her. When she asked what Christine had been crying about, she found out that a dispute had occurred between her and Spock within his quarters and he had tossed a full bowl of Vulcan Plomeek soup at her, which eventually crashed against the far wall. Christine had come out without any injuries, but she had been terrified from the experience. Later Janice found out it was a symptom of the Pon Farr and its blood fever, but she couldn’t help but feel strange around the man. Somewhat nervous.

Spock narrowed his eyes towards the woman without a hint of gratitude in her offer. He simply glared at the woman. “I do not partake in caffeinated beverages yeoman,” He answered sharply.

Jim raised an eyebrow at his first officer, lowering his hand off of Janice slowly, watching as Spock’s eyes followed the gesture down.

“It’s for the best probably. I’m not sure any of us can handle a Vulcan on a coffee high,” McCoy blurted out from behind Janice. He had clearly not come to the bridge to discuss business, but rather to loiter by the captain’s side as he usually did.

Janice blushed slightly from the intense glare from Spock. She was incredibly uncomfortable with Spock’s outlandish behaviour. “I should… finish handing out the coffee.” She said as calmly as she could to the captain before leaving Spock, McCoy and the captain to watch her leave.

Once Janice was out of hearing distance both McCoy and Jim turned towards Spock with a questioning look on their face. Spock had softened from a detestable gleam, to a congenial yet still somehow expressionless face.

“What the hell was that Spock?” McCoy asked, raising the cup to his lips and sipping it casually. Both eyebrows were raised as if to state _I’ve got to hear this._

Spock raised an eyebrow at McCoy’s highly emotional vocabulary. “Clarify,”

“He means why you were so rude to yeoman Rand?” Jim asked bluntly.

“Rude?” Spock questioned. Both McCoy and Jim nodded aggressively as if it was obvious that Spock had just scared the poor woman into running away. “I assure you both that I had no intention to come across disrespectfully to yeoman Rand,” Spock explained looking above both men and towards the rest of the bridge. “I’ve informed yeoman Rand before that I do not particularly enjoy that caffeinated earth beverage. As well I have made my request to not have a yeoman waiting on me,”

McCoy snorted a laughed, “How can you stand it Jim?” McCoy grumbled at Jim sourly as if Spock were on a completely different starship. He could never understand why Jim had chosen Spock as a friend on the enterprise. It wasn’t that Leonard was jealous, because he knew that he and Jim had a very strong friendship, but he couldn’t imagine what Jim saw in Spock. What could they possibly talk about with each other?

However, McCoy could see how Spock had chosen Jim as a best friend. McCoy felt like he had Spock figured out. From his understanding, Spock didn’t naturally mesh with others on the ship, and due to the nature of Spock and Jim’s positions on the Enterprise they had no choice but to become social with one another. McCoy knew that there was a strong sense of acceptance within Jim and a sense of honor that he guessed Spock found admirable. And from what McCoy knew about Spock, he knew that Jim satisfied the human portion of Spock’s side which he desperately tried to hide away. A human side that McCoy knew had more significance in Spock’s overall being than the Vulcan thought. A human side that was somehow more logical when the captain was around.

“Sometimes I wonder Bones.” Jim laughed in response to McCoy. He took another lengthy sip of the coffee in his hand. The fresh flavours of his extra strong coffee was like a slap in the face. It was exactly what he needed to fully wake him up. “Alright men,” Jim finally spoke with a sense of finality, “Let’s go off and make sure everything’s in working order for our honorable guests.”

The bridge was a lot quieter without Spock, Jim and McCoy on it. When the trio left the bridge, it was like children leaving the congregation at church. It became quiet, attentive, and peaceful. No more bickering, no more needless chatter. Just simple beeping, tapping, and occasional humming from Uhura’s station. Peaceful.

-

 

Jim and McCoy stood in front of Spock, both of them fidgeting with the scratchy material of their formal uniforms. From all the different uniforms Starfleet had given them, this pair was particularly irritating.

“I don’t understand why we have to wear these damn things.” McCoy mumbled as he scratched the skin below the cuff of his shirt intensely. It was beginning to sting from the obsessive scratching, but every time McCoy ceased, the material began rubbing on the red marks and caused the itching to begin again.

“We have to be welcoming to these people Bones. Starfleet needs this group to be happy and impressed with Starfleet. The Federation can’t afford to lose them,” Jim explained, becoming incredibly itchy just from watching his CMO kill his arm with his blunt nails.

McCoy looked at the captain desperately. “I swear when I get to my retirement Jim, I’m burning all my old uniforms, but I’ll get a special joy from burning this one I can tell you,” He sighed as he rolled his sleeves up to relieve his arm from the distressful cycle of rubbing against the material and then scratching.

“I know,” Jim replied with a sigh.

The doors to Spock’s quarters opened suddenly to reveal Spock in a similar uniform to the doctor. It was light blue and almost metallic as it was exposed to the light in the hall.  He fixed the sleeves accordingly, and then looked over at the other two men. “I believe I’m prepared gentlemen,” Spock informed them. “We may proceed,”

“Great,” McCoy rolled his eyes sarcastically. The three men began to walked down the hall as Leonard continued, “Good thing we have our spunky Vulcan to help great these people,” McCoy scoffed sarcastically towards Jim. Even though the comment was meant for Jim, there was no blocking Spock’s incredible Vulcan ears.

“Are you implying that my presence is unwelcomed?” Spock asked casually and completely unbroken. If that was what McCoy was implying, it did not seem to bother Spock.

“No, I’m saying you’ll charm the fish right out of the fish bowl,” McCoy waved his hand in the air sarcastically.

Spock tilted his head thoughtfully while Jim interjected into the conversation before things got even more heated. He knew there was a good reason why he usually stood in between the two of them when they ventured off around the Enterprise together.

“Now, you kids behave,” Jim scoffed, “None of this arguing stuff,”

They turned a corner.

“Nobody’s arguing Jim,” McCoy informed rolling his eyes.

“Arguing is against my nature captain,” Spock informed almost simultaneously with the doctor.

Jim nearly scoffed at the two before entering the transporter room. “At least you agree on something,”

McCoy looked over to the Vulcan following close behind Jim. _Agree with Spock?_ He thought to himself worriedly. _God have mercy._

Within the transporter room was another array of fancied Starfleet uniforms. Scotty with a smile on his face ready to greet the captain and his party. “She’s all ready for beaming sir,” Scotty informed assuredly, he rested his hand against the control panel.

“Good Mr. Scott,” Jim replied, “How are those replicators in the Mess hall?” He asked in a more serious tone.

“All ready for use sir. I told ya we would do it,” Scotty replied swiftly and with another large grin. Jim was not sure why he had doubted the man in the first place. He had yet to let him down.

“Good man,” Jim assured, moving around the control panel to the intercom button. His eyes somehow travelled across the room where he saw Spock and McCoy standing together near the transporter pad, both of them conversing harshly. Jim rolled his eyes, pushing the issue aside for now. _Why bother with those two_.

Jim pressed his thumb into the button, “Kirk to bridge,” He waited for the familiar voice of Uhura to reply.

“Bridge here captain,” She answered within seconds as usual. Jim didn’t doubt her for a second. He knew he had the greatest crew in the universe.

“Have the RU-598 group informed us whether they are ready for beam up or not?” Jim asked, his eyes locked on Spock, who was now staring back at Jim. A small smile forced its way on Jim’s lips. He forgot about every other body in the room for a moment, and was completely awe struck by the perfection that was Spock.

“Yes sir. They informed us that all materials and persons are prepared for beam up.” Uhura replied.

“We’re ready in the transporter room. Tell them we are ready to go. Kirk out,” Jim released the button and turned his head towards Scotty, “You got that?”

“Clear as a whistle captain,” Scotty answered joyfully as he began toggling the switches on the control panel in front of him. It was now second nature to the man. He didn’t need to give it much thought from years and years of experience with it. He could practically accomplish the simple beam up with his eyes closed.

Jim relocated to the other side of the room and stood by Spock and Bones. Both of them were waiting patiently with their hands tucked behind them respectfully.

“Clear as a whistle captain?” Spock questioned quietly to Jim as they listened to Scotty pushing the nobs on the transporter controls upwards.

Jim gave Spock a dismissive look. “Consult linguistics Spock,” Though Jim would love to clear the confusion in his first officer, this wasn’t the time. Jim knew that Spock had difficulties with the particulars in the English language such as colloquialisms and metaphors due to the fact that English was somewhat of a second language to him, but Jim was beginning to think that it was a bit of a game for Spock. He was beginning to feel like Spock asked whether he knew or not. Perhaps it was a way for Spock to point out the illogic in the English language, or it was a way for Spock to start conversation with Jim. Either way, Jim liked to play this game with Spock, but this wasn’t the time.

The lights on the transporter pad sprung into a white light, from the top to the bottom. It flashed for a moment to indicate to the surrounding crew members that they were active and busily transporting the molecular build up the RU-598 research team from the surface to the ship. Once the lights flashed three times, a faint glittery vail created a tubular structure of light. Within these tube like images, slowly the crew members aboard could see the outline of a man standing about 5.10 and a woman no taller than 5.2.

McCoy’s eyes instantly met with the captain’s. Jim thought to himself for a moment why every time they beamed a woman aboard the enterprise, or met with a woman off planet, everyone felt the need to check on Kirk.

Soon enough both their eyes reverted back to the small woman and the lanky man on the transport pad who finally materialized along with several cases on the other transport pads.

The woman instantly looked around at her surroundings as she hastily stepped off of the transporter pad and onto the steps in front of it. Her brown eyes were wide with fascination and curiosity. The scientist within her wanted to touch and feel everything, to study the inner workings of the transporter and the other doodads around the room. As she gazed around the room her eyes met with captain Kirk who moved forward from McCoy and Spock and nodded at her graciously.

“Welcome to the U.S.S Starship Enterprise,” He greeted, admiring the enormity of her brown curly hair.

The woman’s eyes widened as she looked at captain Kirk in amazement. “Well how do you do,” She greeted finally, offering her hand to shake. Along with her firm and very professional hand shake, she offered Jim a very large smile. It wasn’t the type that looked to be strained or obligated, it seemed to be a genuine, warm smile. It was a beautiful smile to say the least. “I’m Rebecca Durrell I’m sort of the second in command for RU-598. And this here,” She indicated the man who was very cautiously stepping off of the transporter pad behind her. His eyes seemed to be distracted over by McCoy and Spock. “He’s my partner and fiancé, Joseph Langford,”

Upon hearing his name Joe turned his eyes to meet with the captain. Jim instantly noticed the thick rimmed glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Joe nodded slightly, his expression completely unchanging from the interrogative stare he had been giving Jim’s doctor and first officer.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” Jim replied pleasantly. “We’re ready to beam the rest of your party aboard whenever they are ready. We can also send a security team to help you guys,” Jim offered, the woman.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I think we can manage,” She replied with a hand in the air as if to halt the captain from further pressing the idea.

“Well, if you need any assistance down there…” Jim began again before Joe cut in, however he did not have the decency to acknowledge the captain. Joe simply turned his body so that he was looking at both McCoy, Spock and his fiancé. He motioned his head towards the doctor and the Vulcan.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Dr. Sovik?” Jim asked, trying to cut the awkwardness that Joe had created by almost obstructing his view of Rebecca. He was beginning to feel quite annoyed by the man that had beamed aboard. There was a sense of disrespect within him.

“He should be beaming up anytime now when your men are ready,” She replied as she looked up at Joe sternly, scolding him with her eyes. However Joe had successfully raised enough concern in the women as she turned towards McCoy and Spock.

Other than the sound of security men clearing the transporter pads of the luggage that Rebecca and Joseph had brought aboard, there was absolute silence. Joe and Rebecca remained completely still at the sight of the Vulcan standing next to McCoy. Their eyes looking over Spock’s key Vulcan features with astonishment.

Spock remained still in the gaze of the two humans before him. He did not flinch under pressure and he didn’t feel the need to speak. He had been subjected to such looks for a great portion of his life (if not his entire life). He simply nodded stoically and raised his right hand in the Vulcan salute.

“Ms. Durrell, Mr. Langford,” Spock spoke out in his usual low, emotionless tone. Both Rebecca and Joseph going rigid at the sound of his voice.

“Is he?” Rebecca paused for a moment, looking over at Kirk for a second and then back to Spock in astonishment. “Are you a Vulcan?” Her eyes were big and searching. She did not appear appalled or disturbed in any way by Spock; rather it was a look of sheer amazement.

Slowly Spock lowered his hand from where he was saluting them. He tucked the hand behind his back with the other and he almost sighed unpleasantly. Nobody in the room would have caught it, except Jim had learned to catch those details as soon as they occurred.

“My father was Vulcan, my mother was human,” Spock explained listlessly. He did not care to describe the makeup of his biology. He would love to be able to announce his physiology as Vulcan without the details of where his mother was and how he was physically conceived with the help of numerous Vulcan doctors. However, that’s how things were. That was the only logical answer.

“He’s a half-breed,” Joe finally spoke as he raised both eyebrows in sick fascination with the mixed biology in front of him. He adjusted his glasses as he further analyzed the alien in front of him.

Rebecca narrowed her eyebrows at Joe while everyone in the room felt their hearts drop at the word half breed. It was a well known fact around the ship that if there was one thing Spock could not stand to hear and that was the use of the word half breed. He had nearly ripped the captain’s head off when he deliberately called him a half-breed carcass of memory banks during their visit with Omicron Ceti III. The term _half-breed_ was just bad taste.

Everyone patiently waited for a response from Spock, which never came. He tightly pursed his lips together. Aside from the subtle movement of his lips, he did not speak, he merely waited for whatever happened next.

“But you are Vulcan,” Rebecca clarified, her eyes once again astonished and wondering.

Just as Rebecca had finished speaking, another flash of white light came from the transporter pad. It blinked profusely behind them, creating cylindrical tubes of light once again. Within the tubes were boxes and boxes piled one on top of the other, and in the center transporter pad was the figure of a tall man.

The room went silent again as the materialization had ceased. The figure on the pad was now in full order and in full light. Everyone in the room could now understand the surprise from their last guests Rebecca and Joseph. Everyone’s eyes went similarly wide when they saw the man step onto the floor below the pads.

The man was tall and well built. He wasn’t bulging around the muscles, but he thick. He had a graceful aura about him as his long legs stepped towards Jim Kirk. He had a serious expression which was accentuated with slanted brows and pointed ears, very much like the ones Jim had come to love over the past few years.

Graciously the Vulcan nodded towards Jim without speaking, his eyes lifelessly scanning the captain before he moved slowly to acknowledge the rest of the crew standing behind him. His hands were firmly tucked behind his back almost uncomfortably rigid.

“You must be Dr. Sovik,” Jim finally decided to speak, feeling completely at awe with the sight of another Vulcan aboard his ship. It was very rare that another Vulcan stepped foot on the ship, and from as long as Jim could remember, aside from Spock he had never brought one aboard period.

Dr. Sovik turned back around to Jim. His eyes still fogged with a sense of unfeeling. His eyes were so Vulcan that they it almost hurt to look at. Jim couldn’t help but feel strangely about him.

“Yes,” He answered plainly, his eyes still placed on Jim as he continued his stride throughout the transporter room.

Sovik walked very formally with his long legs moving gracefully as he walked. The back of his black Vulcan robe waved behind him slightly. Jim felt impressed by the intricacy of the Vulcan robe. It was a crisp black of course, just as Sovik’s pants were. Down the breast of the robe were strips of glossy black fabric running down to the end of the front of the robe. It reminded Jim of Spock’s meditation robe only instead of the white, Sovik’s was entirely black.

Suddenly there was a break in Sovik’s movements, and the doctor turned abruptly to face Spock who was watching Sovik with a very intrigued look on his face. For a moment Jim felt as though Spock was even showing feelings of excitement at the new revelation.

It was like two dogs to meeting in the park, both of the Vulcan’s eyed each other pleasantly. Neither one spoke at all, and simply watched each other. Everyone else in the room could only sit back and watch the altercation. As security members busily cleared the transporter pads for the next beam up, Sovik and Spock just eyed each other.

Maybe there was some form of telepathy going on between the two. Perhaps that’s why Sovik turned so suddenly to acknowledge the Vulcan. He could only speculate. Jim knew nothing about the telepathy of Vulcans or the way that Vulcans interacted with one another. It was something Jim promised himself to look into, but as of now, he was just as lost as the rest of the crew.

Sovik began to approach Spock in a calm and comforting fashion. Spock lifted his chin slightly as if to come across more stern then he had already been before. Both their eyes still searching one another.

Finally Sovik was an arm’s length away from Spock, and at this point another handful of the crew had beamed onto the transporter pads with their luggage. The surroundings did not seem to break the Vulcan concentration between Spock and Sovik though. They just continued to eye each other.

After a few moments Sovik raised an eyebrow at Spock and cleared his throat, “So. A Vulcan,” He too had a low and monotone voice.

Spock simply nodded at Sovik. He didn’t dare to complicate things with his dual heritage. He chose to leave it at a simple nod for the time being. There would be time to inform Sovik of his mother’s roots, but for now he only nodded.

Unexpectedly Sovik’s lip began to curl into a small smirk. Feelings of relief, thankfulness, excitement, and joy radiated off of him and lapsed against Spock’s mind. For a moment Spock missed the weak smile that had sprung up on Sovik’s face, but the others watching in on the scene did not miss a beat. McCoy and Jim instantly turned their eyes towards each other. _A smile? On a Vulcan?_ They both questioned within themselves.

It was undeniable and short lived. The smile appeared, and then after a few moments, it faded back into an impressed Vulcan glare. There was something about this doctor that Jim didn’t understand. There was something about the Vulcan’s outburst that raised some concern within Jim. Even with a warning sign like that, Jim noticed Spock’s reaction was as even and untampered as usual. Perhaps that was the most rational option of reaction. The RU-598 was a big deal to the Federation, and their project could offer a lot too many different Federation planets. The man before them was the man who had pieced the whole thing together. It was his ingenuity that put the RU-598 project into motion.

Jim sighed heavily to himself, watching the two Vulcans look as if they were locked in a mental battle or some type of mental conversation that the rest of them were completely unaware of. And though Jim told himself that there was nothing to feel intimidated about, he still felt a strange uneasy feeling.

It wasn’t a feeling or guilt, or jealousy, or pain for that matter. It was a somewhat pleasant feeling. From all the years he had known Spock, he had never seen him so mentally and physically intrigued. Spock’s eyes were wide and interested in the Vulcan before him, and Jim felt happy about that. If it had been so long since Jim had ever seen a Vulcan aboard the ship, he couldn’t imagine what that would feel like for a Vulcan like Spock. What it would be like to have no one of your own species to converse with, or to side with. Here before him Spock had found that. Some sense of relatability to another being, and for that Jim was entirely grateful.

“ _Maybe Spock will make a friend,”_ Jim thought hopefully with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was chapter 2!! Hopefully Sovik is coming through ok. I know it's kind of a slow beginning, but it will get fun soon. I would love to hear what you guys are thinking, and I hope you continue reading : ) 
> 
> LLAP


	3. Sovik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who are celebrating <3
> 
> I just want to thank my marvelous new friend plaidshirtjimkirk for all her amazing support. She has gone over and edited this chapter and gave me incredible advice. She has taught me so much about writing already and I'm so honored that she has taken the time to go over my work. I am such a fan of hers... and though I'm sure you all have read her stories, I still want to recommend them to everyone! She's an outstanding writer..a true gift to the fandom, but also an all around incredible person <3
> 
> This chapter was so fun to write, and I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy it as well..LLAP

**Sovik**

**CEM**

 

It took Jim all but ten seconds to realize that he was staring at the two Vulcans. Though he now knew he was staring at the men (most likely awkwardly),he still could not remove his eyes from them. He wasn’t shocked as much as he was surprised. He didn’t expect Dr. Sovik to be Vulcan, and he didn’t expect Sovik to be so shocked to see Spock either. Nevertheless, Jim was pleased to see this unexpected ‘ _reunion’_ , of some sort.

The look on Spock’s face was what was most pleasing of all. When Sovik had stepped off of the transporter pad, Spock’s expression went from stone cold to one of immense fascination. As Sovik drew nearer to Spock, the look of enthrallment only grew. Jim could only imagine what it would be like for Spock to see another Vulcan on the ship. Often times, Jim tried to picture what the experience would be like to be aboard a ship that was fully populated by Vulcans, and then to finally see another emotional human being like himself. Relief would be one of the _many_ things Jim would feel at that moment.

“Tu stariben vuhlkansu?” ( _You speak Vulcan?)_ Sovik asked Spock, his eyes busy looking over the details of Spock’s face and body. It was almost as if he did not believe that Spock was a solid figure in front of him, almost as if he needed to reach out and touch him to understand the truth. Jim smirked. Sometimes he too felt that way about Spock.

Spock bowed his head as a sign of reassurance. When he raised his head again he replied in his own native tongue, “Ah, maut muhl.” ( _Yes very well.)_

It wasn’t the first time that Jim had heard Spock speaking Vulcan. He had heard Spock speak it once when they went down to his home planet during the time of Pon Farr. From the few words Spock had spoken, Jim remembered how surreal he sounded. Spock’s voice remained his usual low and calm tone, but it sounded so much richer in Vulcan. Jim desperately wanted to be able to translate those words, just to see what Spock truly sounded like in the language of his people. To Jim, Vulcan was one of the most elegant languages he had ever come across. It was elegant and royal, and Jim wondered just how much prettier it would sound in standard. How much more beautiful it would sound with Spock speaking it to Jim in standard.

As Jim was deep within his own thoughts, he didn’t realize that Sovik had turned to him and was addressing him. For a few moments, all he could hear was the replaying of Spock’s voice in Vulcan, feeling shivers every time he did.

“Captain?” Spock finally spoke, which interrupted Jim’s train of thought. He looked over at the two with a hint of shock and embarrassment.

Sovik was now looking at the captain, only this time his expression was much softer than it was when he first laid eyes on him. Initially Sovilk appeared cold, annoyed, and aggravated by Jim’s presence. Now, he appeared as though he was finally addressing Jim as the captain and host that he was.

“Captain James. T. Kirk,” Sovik’s voice was low, but there was something off about it- something that Jim had a hard time pin-pointing. His tone was laced with Vulcan formality, but there was something else there. “It is most honorable to be aboard your magnificent vessel,” Sovik continued.

“She is beautiful,” Jim agreed. He tried not to let their initial greeting set him off; he was, in fact, a brilliant man. His discovery was going to advance the Federation considerably his findings. What the Enterprise could do with the Renneral substance alone was endless. “But I must assure you, Dr. Sovik, the Enterprise and the Federation are honored to have you and your team aboard,” Jim emphasised genuinely.

“Please, Captain, Sovik alone should be sufficient.” Sovik’s eyes began to harden on the captain.

The look in Sovik’s eyes raised some concern in the captain. What exactly had he done to receive the cold glare once again? Jim decided to continue as he was, in a calm, collected and inviting voice, “Certainly,” Jim responded. He watched as Sovik turned away from Jim and towards Rebecca and Joseph.

Rebecca and Joseph were both watching Sovik carefully. If Jim didn’t know any better he would have thought there was something in their eyes that looked like fear. Fear and uncertainty. The thought sent a shiver up Jim’s spine. They had worked with Sovik for so long; why would they look at their leader with such an off expression?

Sovik’s gaze focussed on Rebecca. She was looking back at him with clear concern. “How many have beamed aboard this ship?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s.

Rebecca swallowed hard before answering. Her eyes faltered off of his and down towards her fingers. “There’s about eight of us sir. Most of the luggage is aboard,” she explained, finally at Sovik on the last word.

Jim couldn’t help but peer over towards Spock. For whatever reason, Jim wanted to gauge Spock’s reaction to the new Vulcan. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Spock’s eyes admiring the dapper Vulcan tunic which hung off of Sovik like an elegant robe.

Just as Spock did in his own casual clothes, Sovik wore only black. It was a crisp shade of black as if the material had never touched the sunlight. The thought made Jim curious since Spock’s wardrobe also managed to be incredibly crisp. It was ironic considering Vulcan had many suns. How did they manage to keep their clothing in such pristine condition?

Spock turned his head towards Jim, raising an eyebrow curiously. He noticed the way Spock’s face went from excited to placid once he had become aware that he had his attention. After this realization, Spock slowly approached Jim and stood faithfully at his side, as he always did.

Silently, their eyes met with each other. Neither of them said a word before they both peered back to the RU-598 research team.

Two more members of the research team glistened onto the transporter pad. Clearly, one of the individuals with reddish hair was a good friend of Joseph’s. Upon seeing each other, they abruptly slapped one another’s shoulders almost painfully. Spock winced from the brash greeting.

Feeling isolated, McCoy sauntered over to Jim and Spock, walking around the two so that he could stand on Jim’s right side. McCoy leaned in towards Jim subtly, “I think we still could have done without the uniforms.”

Jokingly, Jim brought his finger to his lips to shush the old doctor. Once he knew that McCoy was done, Jim moved forward to speak with Sovik, once again leaving McCoy and Spock to standalone together.

“Is this all of your crew?” he asked pleasantly and trying his hardest to be his most welcoming. It wasn’t just Starfleet’s orders on making the team feel welcomed that made Jim appear to friendly; it was just Jim’s way about things. One thing Jim absolutely adored about being captain of the Enterprise was the ability meet the most interesting life forms around the galaxy who were doing incredibly interesting things. He was beyond eager to learn more about the Renneral material and the entire project. Though their mission wasn’t the most exciting one since they were _just_ transporting these men and women to Earth, Jim still felt excited.

Sovik eyed the ten men and  two women who were on the bridge in front of him. “We have five more individuals on the planet surface who will beam up after our cargo is brought aboard.” He did not make eye contact with the captain as he spoke. He merely looked forward at his crew.

Jim signalled to two of the security men who were standing near the door. As they approached the captain, Jim began to give them their orders.

“I want you to start carrying the luggage to the specified rooms. Personal luggage to the guests’ sleeping quarters and the cargo to the storage compartment.”

Sovik’s eyes went wide at the captain’s orders and he turned entirely to face the man. “Storage compartment?” Sovik raised his eyebrows unimpressed.

Jim simply nodded with a small smirk. “That is alright with you isn’t it?,” Jim questioned, his finger freezing over the intercom button.

Sovik furrowed his brows in disagreement, “I do not believe Renneral should be thrown in with the other cargo, captain.”

“Trust us  Sovik,” Jim began with a smirk, “We will find an agreeable place for the Renneral.” Jim pressed the button on the intercom, “Kirk to Bridge.”

“Bridge here Captain,” Uhura’s voice sounded through the speaker.

“Have security send me down five security officers to the transporter room,” Jim ordered.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” she asked softly yet confidently. Uhura had that aura about her. She was a gentle and feminine woman, with a harsh bite. When Uhura wanted, she could be a menacing threat to anyone who got in her way. It was one of the reasons Jim loved having her on the bridge crew.

“Everything is fine, Lieutenant. I need them to carry a few things into the storage area,” Jim explained to her.

There was a moment of silence on the other end before Uhura answered, “Aye aye, Sir.”

“Kirk out,” Jim released the button to find Sovik standing next to him with that cold expression overtaking his eyes again. All pleasant formality seemed to have drained from the man. Jim raised both brows at him  as a moment of shock came over him from not suspecting to see him so much closer now.

Sovik cleared his throat before talking, a scratchy noise giving Jim the impression that his mouth was dry. “This storage area…” Sovik began, his voice trailing off as he tried to consider the best way to phrase his question.

“I think you’ll find the storage area we have designated for your things is actually quite nice, Doct...” Jim quickly remembered Sovik’s request from earlier, “Sovik.” He cleared his throat from the awkwardness of his slip up. “Only your cargo will be stored in this room,” Jim explained.

Sovik gave the Captain an incredulous look. His eyes rigid on the captain’s as if the longer he looked at him, the more the captain would change his mind. “What about my Renneral?” he asked with aggravated attitude.

There was an uneasy presence surrounding Sovik, but Jim could not place it. It was almost as if Sovik was about to break at the concept of his precious Retheral being placed in the same compartment as their other scientific materials. And though it might be a cause for genuine concern, Jim could not understand why it appeared to distress Sovik.

Spock moved into the conversation calmly with his hands clasped behind his back. “It is our duty to assist you and your team in whatever you require.” he asked, raising his eyebrow after he was finished.

Sovik’s eyes softened on the Vulcan, but he didn’t answer right away. He first looked over Spock as if another wave of disbelief came over him. “This is your first officer, correct?” Sovik questioned Jim in a much more easy tone, a small hint of pleasure growing on the full-bred Vulcan.

“That’s right,” Jim answered cautiously, watching as Spock lifted his head confidently at the captain’s words. “He’s my first officer and science officer,” Jim explained with a small smirk.

Normally, Jim would love to go on about his first officer and brag about Spock until he couldn’t speak anymore. There was so much that Jim was proud of, so many admirable qualities in Spock to tell the galaxy about. However, Jim had been thrown off by Sovik’s attitude towards him. He could sense that Sovik wasn’t all that pleased with him by the way he had spoken.

“Now this Renneral…” Jim began before Sovik uncharacteristically cut him off.

“So, Mr. Spock is a very valuable asset to your crew,” Sovik pointed out with admiration.

There was a pause from Jim and a gust of confusion as well. The two Vulcans were in their _mental battle_ once again it seemed, and Jim raised his eyebrows at the improper way Sovik ignored his remark. He was beginning to feel frustrated.

“… As for this Renneral, Starfleet has informed us to keep it in a dark, dry, area at a temperature of…” Jim hesitated for a moment, trying to recall what Starfleet had informed them at their meeting a day ago.

“20.45 degrees, Captain,” Spock efficiently interjected. His answer sounded even more enunciated and confident than it normally did, which was certainly saying a lot. Jim raised a brow at his friend.

“Yes,” Jim smiled back at Spock, who was again looking again at Sovik. “20.45 degrees,”

Sovik glanced at Jim for a moment and then returned his gaze to Spock. _“_ Your Vulcan blood shows, Spock.”

Jim felt the need to raise his hands in defeat. There was no talking to Sovik when Spock was around. The two were so spellbound by each other’s presence that it was impossible to make any sort of arrangement with him. It was unfortunate considering that Sovik was the go to man of the RU-598 group.

“It is why I’m such a valuable asset to the crew, Sovik.”Spock answered in standard, holding back one of his half-Vulcan smirks. However, even though he appeared to be quite pleased with Sovik’s comment, Spock still refrained from letting those around him know it. Spock peered over at Jim who was looking back at him. Quickly Spock transformed his half Vulcan smirk into his usually controlled emotionless gaze.

Rebecca stepped forward towards Sovik, Spock and the captain. “Sir,” she addressed all three men before continuing, “The Renneral has just successfully beamed aboard “She motioned to a series of sleek metal boxes about a meter tall and half a meter wide.

Spock’s attention quickly diverted towards the boxes. “Fascinating,” he commented as he inspected them. As Spock gathered his tricorder to prepare running some vague tests on the new arrival, Jim took the opportunity to gather Sovik’s attention.

“If you wish, we can take the Renneral to a closed off location on level B. It only allows my access code so nobody will be able to get at it,” Jim offered, trying to focuss on his job as captain and not on how distracted his Vulcan visitor was by Spock.

Jim couldn’t help but wonder if all Vulcans were like this. With the exception of Spock, Sovik was one of the only other of their kind that he had spent a lengthy amount of time conversing with. Since the circumstances were strange during Pon Farr on Spock’s home planet, Jim wasn’t sure what full-bred Vulcans were actually like. He always thought Spock would be similar if not identical to them, but there was a difference between Sovik and Spock-- a very strange difference.

Jim could only be thankful that Spock was different then Sovik. He was much more fond of Spock’s warmth and predictability. Sovik was more brisk and unsociable.

It wasn’t to say that Spock was absolutely agreeable all the time. In fact, when they first met, Spock appeared to dislike Jim. They seemed to disagree on every little detail which made things difficult on the bridge.  It was roughly a month until Spock warmed up to Jim, and it wasn’t for two months that Jim and Spock played their first game of chess together.

Jim never asked Spock why he had been so cold to him in the beginning. He had initially assumed it was just the way Vulcans were. But after Jim got to know Spock, especially after the death of Gary Mitchell, Jim had begun to realize that Spock was actually a very easy going individual. The only other reason Jim could piece together for Spock’s earlier disapproval of him was that Spock was a bit sour over the lost opportunity to become first officer.

Christopher Pike had spoken highly of Commander Spock on many occasions, even before Jim had the opportunity to meet him. Pike had always referred to him as “ _an outstanding young officer”_ and “ _an individual with immense potential.”_

Jim distinctly recalled the last piece of advice Pike had given to him before taking full command of the Enterprise.

“ _Jim, do you know why I had such success with the Enterprise? It was my amazing crew. And as you take command of her and realize the incredible strengths of your team, you’ll understand what I mean. But there was one individual on that ship who really helped the Enterprise succeed: my number one.” _

_“She was one tough woman, Jim. She would take every opportunity to tell me everything I was doing wrong. She would tell me other ways to do things, other ways to look at things. And you know what, Jim? That could turn out to be a potential problem for you. Gary might be a fine officer. In fact, I can bet you he could be an excellent first officer, but he may not be not your first officer._

_“Jim, if I could offer you one piece of advice it’s to confide in Mr. Spock. Though he may be a bit difficult at times, I want you to understand that he has amazing potential. There is no one on that ship who will challenge you more than that Vulcan, and just like my number one was with me, I think you’ll find what he has to say very helpful.”_

When Pike had said this to Jim a few years back, he was insulted. Gary Mitchell was a good friend of his and Pike seemed to feel as though Jim had made a mistake in allowing him the promotion. However, now that Jim had time to mature and understand Spock, he couldn’t agree more with Pike’s words.

Naturally, Spock must have wondered why he would no longer be the first officer of the U.S.S Enterprise and possibly wondered if it had to do with his performance. Jim would have felt similar, but at the time, Jim had never thought Spock could have feelings like jealousy or bitterness.

Spock _was_ half-human, which was another thing he seemed to wish not to admit to. _That_ was Spock’s shortcoming. Not the fact that hehad a human half (in fact that was something Jim rather liked about Spock); it was the fact that Spock tried to suffocate that part of himself. _That_ was what limited Spock.

“We shall view this storage compartment as you wish, Captain,” Sovik agreed, effectively pulling him from his inner dialogue. Sovik’s attention was on the large men carrying the Renneral. He walked closer to where two security members lifted one of the boxes hastily. Sovik watched them critically, judging their every movement as if their intentions were somehow questionable.

Jim resisted the urge to sigh. He walked over to Dr. McCoy and crossed his arms before his chest. He wanted so badly to tell McCoy about the strange desire he had to shove the Vulcan onto his ass, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit to it because he didn’t fully understand it. He only raised both his eyebrows sarcastically towards McCoy. _What would pushing Sovik accomplish anyways?_

McCoy chuckled lightly, “Yep, two peas in a pod, those two. Wouldn’t you say, Jim?”

Jim just sighed. He stood next to McCoy, and watched the security officers carry the Renneral containers off of the transporter pad. Jim felt a little bit uneasy about McCoy’s comment. Something about Spock being close with anyone like Sovik annoyed him. What could Spock possibly see in someone like Sovik? Jim could understand why Sovik was so entranced by Spock, but not the other way around.

_‘It’s ok,’_ Jim told himself mentally. ‘ _They’re just happy to see another one of their own species. That’s all. Remember, you’d feel the same way.’_ Jim calmed his thoughts once again, finding peace in the fact that Spock was simply just doing his job.

One of the security members looked over at Jim politely. “Where would you like us to take these, Captain?”

Jim glanced to Sovik, who was watching the second pair of red shirts carrying another container off the pad.

“Well, Sovik?” Jim asked, losing patience with the man. “Where would you like my men to take the Renneral? Would you like it in that private storage area?” He asked as civilly as possible. Both Jim and McCoy were quite impressed with how well he accomplished this.

Sovik raised an eyebrow as if it were the first time Jim had asked the question. “No, Captain,” he answered simply before approaching Jim with his hands behind his back. “My cres will be finalizing some of the experiments on your ship, as Starfleet has informed us that such accommodations were possible. I request the Renneral to be stored in our designated lab in the proper conditions.”

Slowly, Jim’s eyes moved from Sovik to where Spock was now moving closer to the scene. His tricorder was firmly gripped in his hands as he stood next to Sovik. “We have prepared a lab for you and your crew Sovik,” Spock explained properly, “If Captain Kirk agrees, I will personally oversee that the Renneral receives the required conditions it needs to exist in.” Spock sounded reassuring and calm in comparison to the loud voices surrounding him.

Jim agreed with a quiet nod while Sovik appeared to be quite pleased with Spock’s reply. Once again, Sovik turned all of his attention to Spock.

“That sounds agreeable, Commander Spock. I do appreciate your hospitality,” Sovik conceded.

It didn’t take a scientist to pick up the _‘subtle’_ hints Sovik was throwing over to Jim. He was beginning to understand that Sovik didn’t like him all that much. Could it really be just because Jim was not Vulcan and Spock was? Was that the reason why nobody else in the room deserved Sovik’s attention but Spock?

Without much thought, Jim glanced back at McCoy who was speaking with Rebecca her fiancé. They seemed to be hitting it off better than Jim was with Sovik, but not as good as Sovik was with Spock. Jim held back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he sent a brief smile in Sovik’s direction.

“Yes, Spock is definitely a one of our best and brightest,” Jim complimented, moving closer to Spock. Without giving Spock as much as a warning, Jim gripped his shoulder proudly, showing Sovik in his own way that Spock and he were close. “Aren’t you, Spock?”

Spock raised a brow at Jim before lowering his gaze at the tight fist grabbing at his blue shirt. Since Jim showed no signs of letting go for his own emotional reasons, Spock answered unenthusiastically, “I have not computed the Enterprise’s _best and brightest_ , Captain,” Spock replied, desperately hoping that Jim would cease wrinkling his shirt without explanation.

Jim lowered his hand slowly as he laughed. He looked at Sovik for a moment to assess the Vulcan’s reaction, but there was no rewarding expression from Sovik. He simply raised an eyebrow at Jim unimpressed.

“Is the remainder of the crew this demonstrative of their human emotions?” Sovik asked, directing his attention back to Spock.

Jim couldn’t help but narrow his brows at Sovik. He was more than willing to give the older Vulcan a rundown of _human emotions you don’t want to stir up 101_. He glared irritatedly.

Spock simply looked over at his captain in silence. There were several seconds that passed with Spock critically analysing Jim while considering Sovik’s question thoughtfully. Finally, Spock found the most suitable response.

“Though I have noticed the crew aboard has a tendency to behave irrationally and with undue emotionalism,” Spock again faced his Captain with a warm gaze, “Some of their emotions and behaviours have justification, however illogical it may appear to us.” Spock peered back at Sovik evenly.

A flush of relief went through Jim at his first officer’s reassuring words. For a moment he was unsure what exactly Spock was going to tell Sovik. He feared that possibly Spock would agree with Sovik, since he was never one to enjoy the emotionalism of his human crew members. But Jim should have known better than to not trust Spock. This _was_ the same Spock that sympathized with him when his best friend had died. This was the same Spock who had risked his life many times to preserve Jim’s. Whether it was out of friendship or something more, nobody would simply drop a person they care about just like that. Spock always had his back, and he would always have Spock’s.

Sovik raised a brow at Jim. He studied him carefully as if he was some threatening force. He didn’t move his head as he made his judgements, and only his eyes shifted from Jim’s shoulders to his gaze. “Indeed,” Sovik remarked, looking back towards Spock. “Perhaps we can begin to tour your charming vessel.”

Both men turned to acknowledge Jim’s decision, and since Jim was already feeling eager to leave the damn transporter room already, he quickly nodded in agreement. The faster they got Sovik and his crew to their quarters, the sooner Jim could carry on with his responsibilities. Maybe he would even find the time to play a game of chess with his first officer. Jim grinned at the thought. That was exactly what he wanted to do at a time like this.

For some reason, chess calmed Jim. It was a way for him to separate himself from the chaos that being a captain caused. Often times, Jim would end his shift with angry veins protruding on his forehead, and his fist clenched in anxious balls. It was at those times when Spock would approach him silently, and offer to play a game. Normally, those games started out with Spock setting up the board, and Jim taking the first move. After about 4 silent moves, Jim would then begin to unburden himself, telling Spock everything that was on his mind. Spock was an excellent listener. He never impatiently interjected or ignored Jim in order to formulate his responses. Spock always sat quietly, moving his pieces among the board, taking in every single word his captain said.

By the end of those games, Jim would be laughing or grinning painfully. He never understood why it always seemed to go that way, it just always did. It wasn’t due to the fact that Jim won almost every game against Spock. It was something else-- it was something that made Jim ask Spock to play one more round again and again.

_That_ was what Jim needed right now.

Jim flashed a glance over at Spock to find him looking at him in return. The sudden eye contact sent a shiver up Jim’s spine. “Spock,” Jim began with a gulp, “Why don’t you gather up the RU-598 team? I’ll be a few minutes speaking with our crew.” Jim suggested.

“Of course, Captain,” Spock replied in a thoughtful tone.

As Spock gathered the RU-598 team, Jim sauntered up next to McCoy where he let out a long breath through his nose. Though he was pleased with the way Spock had handled the situation with Sovik, Jim still couldn't help but feel bothered by the older Vulcan.

McCoy raised his eyebrows while smiling at the obvious annoyance in his captain. Since McCoy had only sat back and watched the scene play out in front of him, he couldn’t help but find Jim entertaining. “What’s the matter, Jim?” McCoy asked in a cross between genuine sincerity and amusement. Jim didn’t know which one to take it as.

“Nothing,” Jim answered convincingly, but there was no tricking the old country doctor.

“Nothing my foot,” McCoy grumbled, looking over at Spock and Sovik, who were now standing side-by-side with the rest of the RU-598 group.

When McCoy refocused on Jim, he noticed a glare he knew all too well. It was the same look that Jim gave when he beamed down to a planet he didn’t fully understand, or when alien creatures tried to get information out of them. It was angry, it was bruting, and it was far from the charming captain he had come to know.

McCoy opened his mouth to voice those thoughts out loud, but was cut off by the captain suddenly moving away from him and towards the security officers who were transferring the luggage and containers of Renneral from the transporter room to their designated rooms. Jim informed the men of where the Renneral was to be taken and which hallways to take them through.

After Jim sent the security men on their way, he turned back towards the transporter control panel where Scotty was standing professionally waiting for orders.

“Have the bridge do one final scan of the surface,” Jim ordered, desperately wishing he was either locked in a game of chess with Spock, or guzzling down illegal Romulan Ale with McCoy. Either one would do him fine at this point.

“Aye aye, Sir,” Scotty exclaimed as he began requesting the bridge to carry out the captain’s orders.

Jim’s eyes wandered back over to Spock and Sovik, who were  beginning to head out on their grand tour of the Enterprise. He felt partially relieved to have full-bred Vulcan out of his hair, but also nervous at the amount of time he would be spending with Spock.

“Planet surface clear, Sir.” Scotty remarked confidently.

“Good,” Jim replied, still half in thought. “Bones?” Jim called back to the doctor who was still standing exactly where Jim had left him, “We’ll go to the bridge and then join the group later.”

McCoy smiled in response to Jim’s hostility towards said group. He was beginning to understand where all the pent up anger was coming from. Jim clearly had something against the new Vulcan that they just beamed aboard. He almost rolled his eyes, McCoy always thought Jim liked all Vulcans.

“Sure, Jim,” McCoy agreed following him as he rushed out the door.

Jim didn’t speak the entire walk to the lift; in fact, he was a good four feet ahead of McCoy. He was starting to wonder why the captain even asked him to come along to the bridge. He had hoped it would be for some quiet to discuss what Jim was thinking, but clearly he had other intentions.

When they finally made it to the lift, Jim peered up towards the top of the doors, waiting for the platform to arrive. McCoy finally cleared the distance between them and lowered his brows in a disapproving glare.

“What’s the rush, Jim?” He asked just as the doors opened. Jim darted inside and pulled McCoy in after him.

The doors closed swiftly and Jim clutched the handle on the wall before ordering the lift to the bridge at half speed. McCoy raised his brows.

As it took off at a slower pace, Jim turned towards McCoy with a weary expression. Clearly, he was not happy, and McCoy felt confident in the reason.

“Is it just me or is that guy…” Jim sputtered as he tried to find the most effective description for Sovik. There were so many words he wanted to use, it was hard to decide which one he would settle for.

The right word never came to Jim. He ended up sighing from his own conflicting emotions. Why was he so angry at Sovik? Why did he want to send Sovik back to the planet Stronos? Why was he so nervous about him?

An image of Sovik staring at Spock came flashing in Jim’s mind. He clenched his fists at the thought of Sovik even _looking at_ Spock. He understood that it was exciting for both of them to see another Vulcan, but it was really starting to grind Jim’s gears.

It wasn’t about Spock, though. It had to have been the way that Sovik had talked to the him. As much as Starfleet needed the Renneral material and assistance of Dr. Sovik, there was still something to be said for the fact that the Enterprise was kind enough to pick them up. Jim could have easily turned down the position and continued his journeying throughout the stars with his first officer. But no, he was carrying that poor excuse for a Vulcan all the way back to Earth.

That’s what Jim tried to tell himself.

“You don’t like Sovik, do you?” McCoy joked, hinting at the obvious way Jim was detesting their Vulcan guest. He could tell by the out of character way Jim referred to him.

Jim sighed, calming himself to converse politely with McCoy. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault that he had allowed Sovik to get under his skin. “I don’t get it, Bones,” he muttered, massaging his eyes with his available hand. That was another way McCoy could tell Jim was stressed. When Jim rubbed his eyes, it always meant there was something was amiss.

“Jim,” McCoy began in a fatherly tone, “Sovik has been on that planet for over three years. He probably hasn’t seen a Vulcan for longer than that. McCoy placed both of his hands behind his back. “And I guess our own Vulcan is pretty excited to see another one too.”

McCoy couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. Of course Spock was excited to see another green-blooded hobgoblin like himself. He knew that Spock had been convinced that Vulcans were superior in logic to all other beings, so it only made sense that he thought of himself as to unemotional to enjoy the company of humans. Still, McCoy felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of Spock being happy and among his kind. McCoy knew even Vulcans got homesick.

The captain groaned angrily, “I know, Bones, I know.” He ran his hand through his hair roughly. “Even if that’s the case, I don’t think that gives Sovik the right to talk to me like that.”

“Now you’re starting to talk like me,” McCoy scoffed, elbowing Jim playfully. There was no response. “Well,” McCoy tried to think of a more appropriate response, or at least something Jim wanted to hear. “After a day or two, Sovik will be busy with his work and so will Spock. They’ll forget that the other’s on this ship in no time.”

It seemed to work fine, McCoy assumed since Jim raised an eyebrow thoughtfully and turned to face him with a small smirk.

 

“I guess Sovik will be too busy to speak to any of us,” Jim thought out loud and McCoy nodded.

Perhaps the next few days wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

-

 

Spock glanced at the chronometer on the far end of the room. 17:36, he read to himself silently before raising a brow at the illogical scene in front of him. The RU-598 crew was busily thumbing through all the different foods the replicator was capable of processing. As Spock had quickly figured out, Stronos had a very limited food supply, which meant that the people in front of him were elated at the prospect of a replicator. It fascinated Spock to see such behaviours from the human race and he did not wish to disturb them quite yet.

As the group began to discuss the specific dishes they missed from Earth, Spock could feel Sovik’s presence approach him from the back, like a gust of wind. Spock could feel the hairs on his neck raise as he felt Sovik’s black garment brush against his arm.

“I apologize for my crew’s actions. They have been quite illogical these past few weeks.” Sovik explained, watching Rebecca laugh loudly among her colleagues. She had found the code to Pad Thai, which she was clearly very fond of.

Spock’s eyebrows raised as he began to feel curious as to the circumstances in which Sovik and his people were forced to live in on their previous expedition. He pressed his lips together tightly in thought before asking, “What were the environmental conditions on Stronos?”

Sovik finally turned his head in Spock’s direction, looking deep into the half-Vulcan eyes before answering. “Stronos has extremely erratic temperatures. During the evenings the environmental readings drastically into the negatives. When it is morning, Stronos experiences exceedingly high temperatures, similar to the heat experienced on Vulcan.”

“Indeed?” Spock chanced turning to acknowledge Sovik more forwardly. Spock was always interested in physiography, especially of planets he had never had the chance to visit himself. If their orders had not been to immediately take the research crew back to Earth, Spock would have loved to beam down to Stronos’ atmosphere and experience the landscape himself. What type of readings would he pick up on his tricorder? What type of vegetation was on that planet? Other than the Renneral, what other types of rocks and minerals existed there? Spock regretted the thought that he may never know the answers to those questions.

The tall, dark Vulcan inclined his head, his cool emotionless gaze mirroring Spock’s. “Indeed,” Sovik agreed passively and turned his head back to his team beginning to reorganize the mess they had made during their excitement.

“They will be most pleased to see the dinner our kitchen staff is preparing for your crew tonight,” Spock noted raising an eyebrow humorously. He quickly glanced at Sovik,whose expression was bare and unfeeling as usual. Spock instantly dropped his brow in a highly Vulcan manner. For some reason there was an undeniable pressure to do so.

Spock observed Sovik, taking in all the details of his person. He once again found himself admiring the garment Sovik wore. It reminded him of something his father had worn years and years ago. Spock was only a boy when Sarek had acquired the piece and he remembered how distinct he appeared in it.

Spock had been only four at the time, but he remembered one evening when his father had left the black shawl hanging on the railing in the hall. Spock had pulled the end of it until it was a heap on the floor, gathered it in his arms and tried wiggling his way into it. When he wore it, he felt just as important as his father-- as important as an ambassador. The feeling of proudness had been short lived as soon as Amanda had come in a cooed and awed at him. Even though he had ended up taking the garment off in shame, for a moment, he had felt as vital as the sun.

Sovik’s attire was a remarkable resemblance to the robe he knew. The crisp black tone, the embroidery down the breast, the way it hung off of his body to the middle of his thigh, it was a lovely Vulcan piece.

Spock furthered his inspection by taking note of how rigid Sovik’s posture was. His shoulders were squared, his head was held high, and he had his hands firmly clasped behind his back. As Spock investigated them further, he noticed a light whitening of the knuckles. Spock’s hands tightened behind his own back.

Aside from pale knuckles, Spock noticed the callouses which littered the Vuclan’s hands, indicating hard and aggressive work. The tops of Sovik’s hands were considerably smoother than the rough edges, but it, too had its share of imperfections. The veins were emphasised among the wrinkles of Sovik’s aging skin. Spock assumed Sovik to be the age of 45, possibly 50. He could not be certain without questioning.

Before Spock had a chance to consider a possible route to that question, Sovik began speaking again. “Humans are very illogical beings, Spock.” He almost sighed as he spoke. “I find them a very troubling species.”

Spock cocked an eyebrow, “If I may ask, Sovik, I have observed that your research assembly is made of of mainly humans, aside from yourself of course. How do you manage this?” Spock questioned, once again looking at Sovik with a deep fascination.

Sovik remained still for a moment before responding, “It is a difficult endeavor to say the least, Spock. I manage through patience and tolerance.” He returned his eyes to meet with Spock’s, “However, I have discussed plenty about my experiences. I wish to know more about yourself.” He then shifted his body so their gazes met. “You are surely not the only Vulcan aboard this ship?” His question was posed with a deep allure.

Spock shook his head softly, “I am the only one of our kind,” he answered shortly but proudly. “In all of Starfleet in fact.”

Nobody could miss the surprise in the older Vulcan’s eyes. Spock could not discern the source of the astonishment. From Spock’s experiences, shock was normally a Vulcan expression of displeasure. He had come to recognize it well among his kind, from his years of receiving such looks from his peers. It was the face Spock had seen from Vulcans who tried to guilt him into choosing a more rational Vulcan career.

The aspect of losing Sovik’s respect so early on displeased Spock. It raised questions in his head that he had been fighting to ignore for years now. Questions like _who are you? What are you? Was Starfleet really for you? Would you have brought more honor to yourself if you stayed on Vulcan?_

It had been a while since Spock had felt this way. It wasn’t until Spock got to know Jim that he had begun to push those questions aside. When he met Jim it suddenly gave Spock the peace of mind that all those questions of _who are you,_ and _what are you,_ seemed to mesh into something he could understand. Spock was beginning to feel that no matter who or what he was, Jim liked him just the way he was.

Now? Having a Vulcan with that look of shock guarding his face, made Spock shiver in disbelief-- disbelief for having ever been accepted by Jim. Spock wasn’t Vulcan like Sovik… not fully anyway. He was a half-breed, just as Joseph had said in the transporter room.

Spock turned his eyes away from the alarming expression on the older Vulcan’s face. He didn’t appreciate the way that look made his human half feel so vulnerable. He felt that the longer he looked at Sovik, the more human he really felt.

Suddenly, a new kind of shiver went up Spock’s spine. It was not particularly unpleasant but it was certainly unwarranted. As Spock looked down to the source, he found Sovik’s hand grasping his shoulder tenderly just as Jim had done earlier.

It did not last long, but when Sovik removed his hand from Spock’s body, he noticed the way his touch had brought a feeling of reassurance to him. It had been one of the first times he received such a gesture from another Vulcan. He had never dreamed to feel something like this before, especially not after informing someone of his own race that he was the first of their home world to leave and study at Starfleet Academy. He had not imagined it would result in such comfort.

“I do sympathise with thee.” The corners of Sovik’s lips twitched as he gazed at Spock warmly, “However, it is pleasing to hear that you have challenged the Vulcan way.”

“This pleases you?” Spock repeated, feeling slightly shocked at how human he sounded. He just couldn’t comprehend Sovik’s words at the moment; he had never received such recognition for his actions. The last Vulcan he had spoken to regarding his decision of joining Starfleet had been his father, and they hadn’t spoken since.

Sovik answered Spock with a nod and continued speaking with a great sense of assurance. “You have clearly been quite successful in your profession. You are a first officer of a very prosperous vessel, are you not?”

“First officer as well as science officer,” Spock corrected feeling awfully proud in his dual position on such a large and infamous ship. Though for some, the aspect of both being first officer and science officer was daunting, it provided Spock with comfort. When Spock had filled only one position earlier in his career, he often found himself returning to the labs after his shifts in an attempt to busy himself further. Now that he had the roles of science officer, first officer and Jim’s friend, Spock no longer had to find things to do-- nor did he want to. He enjoyed all his roles aboard the Enterprise.

“I will not attempt to convince you of what you already know, Spock,” Sovik began, his grin growing into a more recognizable size. “However, I will point it out as fact. Those are quite commendable accomplishments.”

Spock considered Sovik’s words as he turned to look back at the RU-598 crew who were regathering by the doors to the mess hall.

It wasn’t that Spock hadn’t thought of those facts already. Spock had told himself multiple times that what he had accomplished in Starfleet was something to be proud of. He was proud. There was a difference in hearing it from another Vulcan. There was something about having a Vulcan patting his back rather than slapping his wrist. The thought was very appealing. The feeling of Sovik’s kind words caused a small but indefinite smirk to form on Spock’s face.

“Mr. Spock?” Asked a man with reddish hair, standing at Joseph’s side, “Will we have access to these replicators for the whole duration of the trip?” Spock noticed the way this man seemed to talk in a very boisterous tone.

The question was quite illogical since they would naturally need to eat while on their travels. “Of course,” Spock nodded confidently, even more so now with Sovik’s words buzzing in his head. The feeling of acceptance, honor, and respect still pumping through his veins. “Are we ready to continue the tour?”

Various indications of agreement came from across the group and it took only a minute for them to make their way into the hall. They continued their journey towards the end of the corridor where they would turn into another leading to the observation deck.

Sovik and Spock walked at an even pace next to one another. When Spock wasn’t pointing out certain details of the ship on the way, he was looking back at Sovik to see whether he was enjoying the tour or not. He discovered that Sovik had a fascination with certain mechanical elements of the Enterprise. They had passed a window that overlooked one of the technical rooms where thousands of wires collected into bundles and four crew members in red shirts sat at computers registering all the data that passed through. Sovik found that room to be highly intriguing, whereas the rest of the crew found it to be just another room.

It was interesting to see another Vulcan’s opinion on the ship Spock had become accustomed to. He enjoyed seeing the various things that interested him and even the other ones he could care very little about. It gave Spock a new perspective on certain things.

One thing that Sovik had had a hard time understanding had to do with the door to a yeoman’s cabin. It was decked out with colourful ribbons, pictures and streamers. Spock had tried to explain to Sovik that it was a Terran tradition to surprise humans on their date of birth. Creating clever collages of memories and colours was one of many ways they did this. Sovik found this highly illogical and only responded by shaking his head.

Spock recalled a similar instance in his time on the Enterprise. It had been a year into their five year mission when he had received a personal message from their communications officer informing him to report to the briefing room on deck seven-- and not to inform the captain. It was a curious request, but Spock did not question it once he saw the pleading look on Uhura’s face.

When he had reached the briefing room on deck seven, he was greeted by all the chief bridge crew, some of the most notable yeomans and various other crew members. As soon as Spock had gotten there, he had been told that the following day he had to occupy Jim’s attention from the end of his shift until dinner. After that, he would have to bring Jim to the observation deck. That was all. There had been no further explanation. They had simply asked Spock that favour and eventually he complied.

Spock spent a lengthy amount of time entertaining the captain that evening. They had played chess. Next he had watched Jim play a few rounds of Poker with some crew members, and finally had ended up walking around the Enterprise.

When Spock finally brought Jim to the observation deck at the appointed time, things got interesting. As soon as the doors opened, Spock had grabbed onto Jim’s arm in shock. The room was filled with balloons, streamers, various desserts, and, of course, numerous party goers all wishing Jim a happy birthday.

Spock had seen parties on the Enterprise before, but nothing like this. He had never seen so many happy humans in a room all together. Even, though Jim was spilling his drink for a good portion of the night, Spock still felt happy knowing Jim enjoyed his surprise, even if it ended up as more of a surprise for himself.

Certain aspects of human behaviour had grown on Spock over the years. It wasn’t that Spock understood them more than he had in the beginning, but he had learned to live with them. That was why when Jim had his second birthday party on the ship, Spock gave Jim an old hardcover Vulcan journal instead of attending the party. He wished him well and returned to his quarters.

For some reason, Spock had found that Jim’s first birthday about the ship was much more amusing than his second. Though the logic of birthday parties and celebrations were strange to begin with, Spock found that spending the night alone was much less enjoyable; at least on Jim’s first birthday Spock had spent the entire evening with his captain.

The memories of Jim’s birthday brought a half smirk to Spock’s lips as he turned away from the yeoman’s door. He continued with the group down the hall, his mind still on the captain.

There was a certain element of warmth in remembering the fond memories of that evening. It was a warmth that Spock had grown very accustomed to ever since he had met Jim. Among other ailments he had developed, Spock had learned to cope with these symptoms upon seeing him-- symptoms such as the warmth, fast heart rate, dispersed thoughts, an illogical need to grin. He had never felt this way before for another living thing, and certainly never for a human being. But it seemed inevitable. Every time Spock spent time with Jim, he always ended up with these strange conditions.

The unfamiliar ailments hadn’t always been there, Spock noted. Upon their initial meeting he had not been entirely fond of the captain. Jim seemed young and inexperienced, compared to his previous captain. However, time had passed and Jim had proven himself to the crew many times over.

Spock had learned that Jim and  Gary Mitchell as his first officer did, indeed, make an agreeable command team and thus gained his respect. The warmth and balmy feeling did not manifest until much later though.

It had been on Stardate 2265 at 18:00 hours. Spock had been sitting alone in his quarters when Jim had knocked on the door of their shared bathroom. As he recalled, it took nearly ten knocks until he became fully aware of the source of the noise. Though he was deep within his meditation, he had allowed Jim the access into his room.

When Jim had appeared in Spock quarters, he didn’t stay long-- most likely the temperature was inconvenient for him. Still, Jim had pressed on into the heat to give Spock something. Jim opened a dark box and shifted the contents inside gently, causing a clattering noise to fill the air.

Spock had still been seated on the meditation stone when Jim leaned forward to show him the contents of the container. Inside were various melted chess pieces which brought back the memory of Charlie’s incident with them. He had disfigured the pieces as a result of his loss against Spock. It had been an unfortunate occurrence considering those pieces were a part of Spock’s personal set.

Jim explained how upset he had been that Charlie had destroyed their pieces, and he went on to say how he felt as though he were to blame. _Illogical._ Jim was certainly not to blame for Charlie’s actions, but it seemed to bring Jim peace of mind to admit that it was. Jim then presented a second box to Spock.

When he had opened the box, he had found very distinguished chess pieces, neatly tucked inside. They were much more elegant than the previous ones and Spock noticed a tiny imprint on the bottom. Jim had explained that these pieces were fire retardant; as well, he explained the small engraved _S &J _meant that these were specifically for their use since they had been victim to other crew members running off with their pieces and not returning them in the past.

That was when Spock felt the warmth for the first time. It was a peculiar feeling, but Spock found it pleasing nonetheless. What was even stranger was that every time Spock looked at the tiny chess pieces, and more specifically at the tiny lettering engraved on the bottom side, Spock felt it again-- that warmth that started in his side and then engulfed his entire being.

Finally, they reached the doors to the observation deck where Spock snapped back into the reality of his surroundings. _Since when did he start daydreaming?_ The thought was concerning, but without much time to give it thought, Spock introduced the group to the room. When he did, the group of humans made various oohs and aahs at the large window that revealed the glittering galaxy they were traveling through. They were all very impressed… all except Sovik.

Sovik did not react like his crew. He simply looked into the room blankly. After peering across the room to the large window, he diverted his attention back to Spock. It was as if he had seen space so many times that he had no interest in seeing it again. This may very well have been the case with Sovik. Perhaps he had seen many starships before in his time.

“Interesting,” Sovik finally agreed, moving into the room ahead of Spock. His hands were still tightly clenched behind his back, his shoulders and arms almost painfully firm.

After physically turning in a circle to view his surroundings, Sovik faced Spock. He gave him a very long and definite stare, as if he were reading him like a novel. It was a strange look, but Spock dismissed it passively.

“I am pleased that you find our observation deck interesting,” Spock agreed with a nod. He then moved across Sovik in an attempt to relieve himself the pressure of being under his gaze. It was to no avail since Sovik followed close behind and stopped beside him in front of the large glass window. The darkness of space projected far beyond them.

Even with the marvelous sight of the galaxy, the stars, and the departure of Stronos, Sovik still looked at Spock. It had been like that for a few minutes until Sovik had decided to finally speak. He released his hands from their entrapment behind his back and placed them together in front of him.

“You are very devoted to your captain,” Sovik pointed out in a rough tone. It sounded almost as if he were talking through his teeth.

“I am a well-disciplined officer, Sir,” Spock explained simply. “I endeavor to be obedient to all my superior commanding officers.”

Sovik nodded in return. His eyes finally left Spock and focussed on the marvelous scene before him. “You are especially compliant to your captain,” Sovik further pushed, his eyes steady on the stars.

Spock raised an eyebrow curiously. What exactly was Sovik trying to convict him of? Was there something wrong with him being obedient to his captain? Was that not the correct procedure on a starship? Spock was at a loss for Sovik’s questions.

“I believe the entirety of the crew is in equal obedience to the captain,” Spock insisted carefully. “Captain Kirk is a very honorable leader, and is well deserving of his position among the crew.”

There was no answer from Sovik. He seemed to be done with the topic of Jim. Spock took the silence of the Vulcan as some form of agreement to Spock’s statement. He had, in Terran terms, ‘ _won the disagreement’_. That was good, since Spock would never allow for someone to bad talk his Captain. His Captain Kirk. His Jim.

The warmth returned.

-

 

Jim pressed his fingers against his sore eyes as he sat in the captain’s chair. He was now leaning into his touch, resting his elbow on the armrest tiredly. It had certainly been an interesting afternoon with the new RU-598 crew, and Jim was not looking forward to the dinner they had yet to have with their guests.

There was nothing wrong with the RU-598 group; they were all extremely talented, intelligent, and charismatic individuals (for the most part). Their strange Vulcan leader was throwing Jim off, though it was clearly not an issue on the part of Sovik since he was getting along just fine with his first officer. Instead, it seemed to be an issue with specifically Jim, and he just could not place the reason.

It was frustrating for Jim. He had felt a similar way back in the academy when he did not get along well with one of his professors. It was in his final year when he met the man. His name was Professor Barton. When Jim first met him, he remembered his telling Jim that he didn’t think he would make it far in Starfleet. There was absolutely no provocation to lead Mr. Barton into believing such a thing, but nonetheless, that was just how he felt. He would talk down Jim’s ideas and speak with him on a lower intelligence level, which always grinded his gears.

The need to liked was not the issue, though it did play a small factor in it. It was rather, the concept of being dishonored for nothing. Jim could not understand how somebody could meet another person and instantly despise them-- especially since Jim had been nice to Barton as well as Sovik. Both men seemed to dislike him all the same.

Fortunately, Jim had succeeded in gaining Barton’s respect when it came to Kobayashi Maru testing time. Jim had grown so frustrated by Barton, and the concept of a no win scenario, that he had tricked the system. He reprogrammed the simulator into defeating the enemy and driving his ship to victory. The look on everyone’s face in the simulator room  
was priceless, but not as priceless as one individual’s expression.

Professor Barton, instead of looking slack-jawed like the rest of the people had had an enormous grin on his face. Had thrown his hand out in front of him and shaken it vigorously with Kirk’s. He still remembered Barton’s words.

“ _Kid, you’re going places one day. You’re going to get a ship of your own, and you are going to succeed. I always thought there was something special about you.”_ It would be a lie to say that it didn’t feel good to hear Barton say that. Jim had always thought that Barton hated him without reason, but as it turned out it had lead Jim into success. From Jim’s success with the Kobayashi Maru test, Barton was always extremely supportive of Jim. It was hard to imagine they were at such odds at one time.

Sovik’s situation seemed similar. When Jim first met him, he had been nothing but friendly to him. He had offered him his ship, his hospitality… his everything. However, it was only met with animosity, anger, and annoyance. Jim rolled his eyes slightly at the memory of Sovik gawking at his first officer. _That_ in itself was an issue.

Jim didn’t _own_ Spock by any means. In fact, at this moment, they were only friends. Still, Jim felt a protectiveness over his crew. These people were all under his command, under his supervision, on his ship. He didn’t like the possible dangers of another individual staring at his first officer. There was something terribly offensive in that, and Jim felt angry thinking about it.

Furthermore, Spock was close to Jim. Even if Spock didn’t share the same feelings of fondness, they were still close. It was a closeness that surpassed friendship. Jim and Spock were most definitely best friends… no… even more than that. Brothers? Possibly more? Jim shook his head from all the confusion. He wasn’t sure just how to classify what he and Spock were. All he knew was they were … something.

There had been that moment on the observation deck the other night. Jim had gotten so close to feeling Spock on another level. Their lips were so close and if they had only been standing a fraction of an inch closer, they would have pressed together in a warm and long-time anticipated kiss. True, it didn’t _actually_ happen, but Jim thought it counted for something. It meant that Spock wasn’t completely oblivious to his feelings. Right?

_‘You’re losing your mind Jim. Focus on your task.’_ And that task at the moment was overseeing the departure from Stronos’ atmosphere. When Jim finally refocused his mind onto the bridge, he was aware that they were now leaving orbit.

“We no longer have orbital contact, Captain.” Sulu spoke over his shoulder.

Jim turned towards him sharply. “Very good, Sulu. Plot course for Earth.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” Sulu responded with a firm nod. He began to do as the captain said.

Jim arose from his chair, finding McCoy stationed at the left side of it, where he usually stood. He smirked at his friend before turning back to regard his crew professionally. “Sulu, you have the conn. If anything goes wrong call me, I’ll be with our distinguished guests.”

He almost let a hint of sarcasm leave his mouth. Luckily, his years of discipline helped him move past such a petty reaction. It wouldn’t look good for the captain to go around bad-mouthing his guests behind their backs.

McCoy began to move towards the lift with Jim until they both came to a halt. The captain turned around, remembering another reminder for his crew. “Also those of you, who are to attend the welcoming dinner, please do so at 20:00.”

Soon enough, they were back inside the lift and holding onto the handles provided at the side for support. Jim’s gaze was distant and contemplative. After a brief moment of silence, he brought his hand back up to his eyes to massage them once again.

“You know,” McCoy spoke through an amused smile. “You can probably stay on the bridge. I’m sure Spock’s handling things just fine.” Part of McCoy couldn’t believe he had so much faith in Spock for this specific task. He wasn’t really a people person, let alone a tour guide. But at the same time McCoy was quite impressed with his Vulcan friend. Though he was extremely irritating at times, Spock was still one of the most highly respected officers on the Enterprise. Of course, he had faith in Spock, it would be selfish to assume otherwise.

The sound of Spock’s name made Jim’s skin crawl. That was exactly _why_ Jim had to go back to the tour group. He couldn’t leave Spock and a few red shirts down there, not when Sovik was around. He didn’t think Sovik would hurt him or anything since that wasn’t the nature of Vulcans, but Jim desperately felt the need to be close to Spock again.

Clearly the blush across Jim’s face did not go unnoticed since McCoy was chuckling as soon as Jim had turned the comical shade of red. He raised an eyebrow at his captain. McCoy knew that the only times Jim turned that colour was when he was either embarrassed or angry. He took a stab in the dark as to which one he believed it to be.

“You _really_ don’t like this guy,” McCoy laughed again. He knew that Sovik was bad, but was he really _this_ bad?

Jim snapped his head towards him just as the lift stopped and then began to walk down the hall. “It’s not him,” Jim mumbled as McCoy caught up to him.

“You’ve got to be joking, Jim,” McCoy scoffed. He placed both his hands behind his back as he strolled alongside his friend casually. He had known Jim long enough to feel comfortable being himself in front of him. He never felt pressured or anxious regardless of Jim’s position on the ship. The captain and McCoy were friends first, and then coworkers-- until a dire situation demanded the reverse.

“Jim, ever since that green-blooded hobgoblin stepped foot on this ship, you’ve been fuming with rage,” McCoy grumbled. He took a moment to stop their walking so that he could face Jim head on. “Jim, you sat in your chair for nearly ten minutes completely in a daze. Now if you don’t think that second pain in the neck Vulcan is the cause for all this tension, then meet me in sickbay.” He nearly growled those last few words at Jim.

What angered Jim was that McCoy meant it too. If he had been in a daze as he had been accused, then McCoy was in his right to drag him down to sickbay, sit him on a bio bed and go through a whole exam. McCoy always knew how to get Jim talking.

“Well I won’t say he isn’t a factor,” Jim agreed finally. “Satisfied?” he questioned jokingly. He then began to walk again down the hall where he could hear the faintest fit of laughter.

McCoy followed behind Jim with a heated expression on his face. “A factor? I’d love to know what makes up the rest of that anger,” McCoy muttered just as Jim set off one of the automatic doors to the observation deck.

Just as Jim had suspected, the tour group hadn’t made it very far since they were obviously being held up in the observation room. He couldn’t blame them. The research team was in complete awe at the beauty of the sight before them. Jim remembered the first time he had visited this room. It had been with Spock near the beginning of their journey.

There were many fond memories here. There had been the Christmas party in which he recalled security member Ryans had gotten so drunk he passed out on the table in the far corner-- the same table at which Jim and Spock played their first game of chess. This room also housed Jim’s first surprise birthday party on the ship. Jim smiled to himself as he remembered how Spock was much more surprised than Jim had been..

There were also more intimate moments on this observation deck. As Jim had recalled earlier, the table in the far corner was where they had played their first game of chess. There had been another instance when Jim and Spock played chess in this room and one of their pieces had gone missing; they spent the entire evening looking for it.

And of course, Jim could add last night to the list of remarkable observation deck events-- the moment when he almost kissed Spock.

Jim moved into the room to get a better look at the scene. He could see where the source of the laughter was coming from. Rebecca was guffawing boisterously with some of the security men in red shirts. Though her voice was loud, it was not obnoxious. He really admired that in the woman.

After looking away from Rebecca, Jim searched immediately for his first officer. At first the fear that Spock wasn’t present came to mind, but soon after that thought popped into his head, he found both Vulcans standing in front of the window with their hands clasped behind their backs. They were in the exact spot where Jim and Spock had stood the night before. For some reason that made Jim feel antsy with frustration.

The sight of Spock, his tall, gentle, peaceful, and stoic friend in contrast to Sovik’s cold, apathetic rigidness, felt like a punch to the gut. There was something so wrong about Sovik, that it pained Jim to see Spock so comfortable with him. They stood next to each other, conversing in their Vulcan ways.

Perhaps Jim was wrong though. As he looked towards McCoy’s unimpressed reaction, he wasn’t sure who was the wrong one here. Sure, he and Sovik hadn’t gotten things started on the right foot, but maybe it took Sovik longer to warm up to humans. Perhaps he needed time.

Or maybe he just wanted Spock just like Jim wanted Spock.

Spock was gorgeous. Jim had never called another man gorgeous or beautiful before, but Spock was every sense of the word. From his delicately pointed ears, to the way he walked, he was the epitome of perfection. His eyebrows, his lips, his eyes, his voice… it all sent shivers down Jim’s spine. It was obvious that Spock was beautiful, to anyone with eyes.

However, Spock was complex. There was definitely more to him than what met the eyes. He was part human and part Vulcan. Though Spock would tend to disagree, he had specific likes and dislikes.. He had things he preferred and other things that annoyed him, which Sovik would never understand like Jim did. It took Jim years to figure out Spock, and to this day he had to admit, he was only half way there. There was so much beyond those pointed ears, and that was partly why Jim was so fascinated by him.

Sovik would never know how Spock played chess. He would never know the way Spock hated the way people chewed with their mouths open. He would never guess in a million years that Spock enjoyed the play Hamlet by Shakespeare, but despised Macbeth. Sovik wouldn’t know, unless he truly spent the time to find that out.

Still, there was that other half of Spock that Jim was still learning. But, maybe (and God forbid) that was a part of Spock he would never understand… not like a Vulcan would. Not like Sovik would.

The thought was distressing.

As Jim watched Spock turn his head towards him, he noticed the softening of his features when their eyes met. For a moment, Jim felt as though everything would be ok. Maybe he didn’t need to fully have Spock figured out. Maybe it was enough for Jim to love Spock.

Without saying anything to Sovik, Spock strolled up to Jim. His half smirk was still present. When Spock was finally close enough,  he could smell the spicy scent of his first officer.

Jim didn’t need to look at Sovik to know that he was probably staring at them. At this moment, Jim couldn’t care less. If the room wasn’t full of people, he would press his lips to Spock’s and cherish the kiss until their mouths became sore. It was clear to him that he didn’t just _like_ Spock.

He loved him.

If Jim’s past relationships were anything to go off of, he knew that Sovik would be a problem. When he loved someone like he loved Spock, he didn’t let anybody get in his way. It had been that way with Carol, it had been that way with Edith, and it would be that way with Spock. Jim was a determined lover. Possibly more determined than any Vulcan could be.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody wants to give me some advice or just wants to chat, email me at iamcemxox@gmail.com .. I love to chat! :))
> 
> Let me know what you think so far, and as always thanks for reading <3 LLAP


	4. The Way I Feel Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Plaidshirtjimkirk for being an incredible beta!!! She has really taught me so much about writing, and has inspired me to keep writing <33 This story would truly suck without her and I’m so grateful and honored. Please check out her stories! They are INCREDIBLE! <3
> 
> Title was from the song “The Way I Feel Inside” by the Zombies! 
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter (the good stuff) :: Graphic scene of Jim masturbating!!!! 
> 
> Please enjoy chapter 4!

**The Way I Feel Inside**

 CEM

 

_“Captain’s Log, Stardate 2267, Personal Log. We have successfully boarded the RU-598 research group onto the Enterprise. They seem pleased with the ship, all except Dr. Sovik who has found more interest in… conversing… with my first officer, Mr. Spock. Though I know it to be illogical, I have found Dr. Sovik’s presence unnerving. I can’t place the feeling into words, but I hope that our journey can be a peaceful one.”_

-

 

Awaiting their guests, the chief officers stood around the dining table that was decorated with the finest crochet linens. However, what really drew attention to the table was the large, plump turkey in the center, which Jim had ordered specially for this occasion. Jim had done so before during the Enterprise’s first Thanksgiving. He had Scotty fix up one of the replicators to make specialty turkeys that didn’t taste like the horrid replicated chicken. He liked to spoil his crew like that every now and then.

On Jim’s right, he noticed Spock was not eyeing the turkey. For obvious reasons, Spock was not interested in the bird, but he seemed to completely avoid the meal all together. He soundlessly looked off toward the doors, patiently waiting for their guests to arrive.

Jim tightened his hands over the back of his chair. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he was feeling nervous at Spock’s side. He assumed it had something to do with the revelation he had earlier that evening... the way Jim had finally realized the depths of his affection for Spock. He huffed silently to himself so that Spock could not hear. Except, nothing went unheard, by a Vulcan. Spock inclined his head to respond to Jim’s tension. “Captain?” Spock questioned, “Are you alright?”

Jim raised his eyebrows, trying hard to look as though he didn’t understand where Spock was getting this assumption. “Me?” He decided playing dumb would be the best way to approach this. “What makes you think there’s something wrong?” He asked through a smile, his eyes warming over the Vulcan tenderly.

“You seem fatigued,” Spock explained, tilting his head slightly to the right.

It always felt incredible to have Spock worry over him like this. Spock would never admit to getting worried, but there was nothing else Jim could classify it as. Every time Spock started fretting over him, a tiny crease would form in between his brows. Jim loved that look on Spock.

“I’m alright. Just hungry,” Jim lied slightly. He wasn’t particularly hungry this ship’s evening evening--even after having to to had run all over the ship with the tour group; consciously standing in between the Vulcans throughout the entire ordeal, really tired Jim out. He had no appetite, and found himself wanting to unravel his thoughts over a game of chess instead.

In through the door came a red shirt security officer. He entered stiffly and moved to the side of the room to allow the RU-598 group to take their seats. He stood there quietly and professionally, like a statue.

“Good evening,” Jim greeted, making sure to give each of the members a warm and welcoming smile, all except Sovik. However, there was no need to make the cheeky attempt, since Sovik did not think twice to acknowledge Jim. He instead instantly glanced towards Spock and gave him a casual nod before taking the seat across from him. Jim couldn’t believe one man had the ability to push his buttons this much, by doing so little.

Finally, the group of humans followed Sovik’s lead to their chairs. Jim noticed how they were much quieter than they had been earlier. He understood the intimidation though. These formal dinners had a tendency to be uncomfortable. Jim had been in their position many times. As a guest on a foreign ship, surrounded by powerful individuals. It was certainly an overwhelming environment.All the chief crew members’ eyes were on them. While the RU-598 crew were finding their seats, the chief officers found it acceptable to take theirs.

Rebecca was the last to sit, and she chose the spot directly across from Jim as well as next to her fiancé Joseph. Once she was seated, she peered up to Jim, flashing him one of her perfect grins. This time her smile was highlighted by the fluorescent colour of red she had applied to her lips, making her white teeth stand out even more. It was impossible for Jim not to return the smile.

As everyone had settled in, Jim stood and raised his glass of wine, “Welcome to our honored guests. We are happy that you could all be here with us this evening.” Jim’s eyes naturally fell on his first officer, who was looking up towards him with an approving gaze. “As well, we are honored to be the escorts for you and your experiment, back to Earth. It’s a marvelous project you have all been working on, and so,” Jim raised his glass higher, “I propose a toast to the RU-598 project, its diligent personnel, and to a safe journey home.” His bowed his head respectfully, “Cheers.”

A flock of glasses rose into the air above the table, the wine inside wobbling uneasily. Once they had spoken their various cheers in response to the captain’s, they brought their drinks down to their lips and sipped the mauve coloured alcohol. Jim took his seat once again.

McCoy licked his lips happily from the bitter taste of the wine. He turned his eyes to Jim and tapped his glass. “We weren’t cheap with the wine,” he noted with a pleasantly surprised expression. Jim smiled cheerfully at this friend.

They certainly weren’t cheap with the wine. On occasion, the Enterprise served the regular, bland Merlot that Terrans were accustomed to. However, they did have a specialty collection of wine from Dyonia, a planet known for its worship of Dionysus; with that, they honored the ceremonial drink. Since the Enterprise had spent a lengthy amount of time with the Dyonians, working on joining them to the Federation, the crew had been gifted with their most prized wines. For a planet practically made up of drunks, they certainly made a marvelous cup of brandy.

It wasn’t that Jim found this occasion to be any more deserving than another, but Starfleet was very clear in how they wanted the RU-598 group to be handled. They were to be given the best treatment the Enterprise was capable of giving and that was apparently one of the reasons why they had chosen this ship  in the first place. She was known for her hospitality, and Jim thought that alone was a good reason to break out the Dyonians wine.

Spock did not drink the wine tonight, not like he had on Dyonia a year back. Jim remembered Spock having a full two cups of it, and enjoying it, if Jim had anything to say about it. Instead of wine, Spock filled a cup with a Vulcan spice tea that he had made himself for Sovik and him to share.

As Spock finished pouring his tea, he turned his eyes up to Sovik and offered him the pot humbly.

Sovik reached across the table, hooking his fingers around the handle and the other resting on the edge of the pot. Jim felt as though he were seeing red when Sovik’s fingers inched down the pot to quickly rub his digits across Spock’s.

It was hard to deny the feeling Jim was having at that moment. Even he had never touched those fingers in such a manner. He never once got to caress, or rub those olive coloured palms. It was a feeling Jim hadn’t felt in a while, one that made him have the urge to swat the pot out from both their hands, and take Spock’s hands into his own. He wanted to show Sovik what he and Spock had going on… whatever _it_ was. He wanted to somehow mark Spock to keep this predator away.

Luckily for Jim, it hadn’t come to that. Spock slipped his fingers away from Sovik’s as soon as he felt the contact. He assured himself that Sovik had a good hold on it, and removed his hands, hiding them under the table. Spock’s expression remained as still and strict as it always had.

Sovik began to pour the tea into his cup, looking completely unbothered by Spock’s reaction. Jim felt disappointed in the fact that Sovik wasn’t wallowing in rejection. He wanted Sovik to feel the pain of not having Spock, not ever being _able_ to have him. “I thank thee Spock,” he finally spoke, his eyes fixed on the deep red colour of his tea.

Spock returned the nod. “I anticipated that you too do not consume alcohol,” Spock continued as he spooned up a small amount of potatoes into his plate and then passed them over to his captain when he was finished. “I also assumed that you would appreciate Vulcan cuisine as well as Terran this evening.” He referenced the medium sized bowl of T’mirak rice in the center of the table.

“You assumed correct, Spock,” Sovik agreed taking the T’mirak toward him and spilling some of its contents into his plate. He, too, did not over indulge in the food offered to him. Jim believed it was a Vulcan custom to eat very lightly.

While Spock dipped his head down as he began to fork the T’mirak, Jim noticed the way Sovik’s eyes returned to him as if to watch him while he was not looking. It was a curious action for a Vulcan. What was the logic in having to secretly watch another? Did Sovik have voyeuristic tendencies that Jim should know about? And though Spock was a fullly grown Vulcan, he still had the feeling a mother would have over her child in the park… as if a strange man was watching from the bushes.

Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably, staring directly at Sovik as if to intimidate him into looking his way. However, the opportunity never came. Sovik continued to eye his first officer like he was a Picasso original. Intrigue, fascination, desperation were all present in his eyes.

It was impossible to stand by and watch. As the captain, Jim felt the need to confront Sovik on his actions, but just as he was about to speak, Rebecca did. She took the attention from all the members of the table. “This is certainly a marvelous meal, Captain Kirk,” she complimented with another smile, “Is this real turkey?” She waved her fork above the white stringy meat on her plate.

At least, she had taken Spock’s attention. “Well, real enough.” Jim smiled innocently. “I had our crew replicate it specially.”

“Well, thank you, Captain, it’s divine,” she complimented, taking another bite of it.

Jim shook his head, finishing his mouthful of potatoes before speaking. He waved his fork towards Scotty’s direction at the end of the table, “I suppose my Chief Engineer would be the chef to thank for this one.”

Rebecca looked down the table at the cheery Scotsman. “Well, then my compliments to the Engineer.” She raised her glass respectfully.

From Jim’s side, he could hear Sovik start up another conversation with Spock, something in regards to how the tea tasted. As much as Jim tried to zero in on Spock’s response, he was distracted.

“You would not believe how long it’s been since we’ve had a decent meal, Captain!” the man with reddish hair exclaimed on Joseph’s right. He then made eye contact with the doctor. “Back on Stronos, we only had these tablet meals and sustenance kits we brought over with us.” He let out a gentle chuckle, “I haven’t had a piece of meat in over three years!”

McCoy snorted at the comment, “You should have known better than to go stranding yourself on some planet with a Vulcan.” He took the final gulp of his wine, and then helped himself to a second glass.

Sovik’s eyes met with the doctor’s, which caught Jim’s attention. From what Jim could discern from the Vulcan’s expression, he had been deeply insulted by the doctor’s joke.

“Well, you all have full access to our replicators whenever you please,” Jim informed them, his eyes tracing from the Vulcan’s glare back to Rebecca’s. He tried to speak before Sovik had the opportunity to. Though Jim would had loved to have a straightforward discussion with the Vulcan on why he was such a difficult individual, he still had his orders. Besides, Jim wouldn’t call someone out at the table, even if it was Sovik. It was bad taste.

Rebecca shook her head in amusement, “You wouldn’t be able to stop them, Captain.” She laughed, finally looking over to her fiancé lovingly. “These men have an appetite bigger than I think all your replicators can handle. It’s a wonder they survived on that planet at all.”

Joseph replied by rolling his eyes. “This is us now, imagine us after we get married?” he joked as he prodded his fork into the turkey.

“That’s right,” Jim interjected, “Have you two set a date?” Jim had recalled Rebecca mentioning that she and Joseph were engaged to be married, but had somehow forgotten. It seemed Jim’s mind had been somewhere else the past couple of hours.

“Not exactly,” Rebecca answered proudly. It was plain to see the excitement that radiated her features as she spoke about her and her partner’s plan for their future. He could see the woman’s mind reeling about when, where, and how they were going to go about it. It pleased Jim immensely to see two lovers in such a position.

There had been a time when Jim was as awestruck as Joseph and Rebecca. Back at the Academy, he, too, was planning his life with another. And though Jim wished he could say he wasn’t silly enough to fall in love so young, he had.  He had fallen hard for a woman name Carol Marcus, and she was gorgeous, intelligent, and extremely witty. She was everything that Jim had wanted, and Jim could not fathom the idea of letting that go.

It must have been some cruel fate, or luck, but even after a long and fruitful relationship with Carol, Jim had been denied. He hadn’t even gotten as far as opening the box holding her ring, when Carol informed him it wasn’t going to work. ‘ _We’re two completely different people, Jim, both heading in completely different directions.’_ Those words had felt like knives, and till this day he still felt those sores.

The pain that had followed was unmeasurable. He had dedicated so much of himself to Carol. Hearing those words caused Jim to cave in on himself. He had lost a piece of him that he didn’t think he would ever have again. If it weren’t for Gary Mitchell and his ability to bring him out from dark places, he wouldn’t be standing on the Enterprise today. He would probably be a lonely ensign drifting through space.

At times, Jim wasn’t sure if it was the rejection that hurt, or the fact that he and Carol would have never lasted. As Jim had grown up, he learned more about himself, and about what he wanted in his life. He realized that had he been with Carol, his life would not have been what it was today. When he thought about everything he would lose, he was glad that he hadn’t jumped into a long term relationship with her-- not when he had found his one true love, and her name was Enterprise.

Or… maybe _his_ name was Spock.

To say that Carol’s rejection hadn’t hurt would have been a lie. To say that he hadn’t cried following her departure would have been foolish. It was a secret that Jim had only shared with Gary and McCoy. Jim never thought it was something he wished to burden Spock with… at least not yet anyway.  

He silently wished the best to Rebecca and her husband to be. He wished them a long and prosperous relationship, one that was meant to be and would make them both infinitely happy.

McCoy broke through to Jim, helping to bring him back from his inner monologue. “So, where’s the stone?” he joked, searching Rebecca’s hand for any sign of an engagement ring. His smile faded as he noticed her slim digits were completely bare. “Unless…” He trailed off, trying to think of some way to save himself the awkwardness of his misjudgement.

Rebecca’s smile grew as she dipped her hand into the front of her light blue button up shirt. She pulled a chain from underneath it, which in the artificial light, twinkled an elegant pink. On the end of the chain was something much less sophisticated. It was a thick and dark ring, which looked to be in particularly rough shape. It was worn along the edges and scuffed across the top, as if someone had rubbed the band against a set of bricks.

As the jewlery turned in the air below her fingers, Jim and McCoy both raised a brow. It was not  a ring either one of them would have chosen for a lady as graceful as Rebecca, but neither one of them found it their place to judge. “It’s beautiful,” Jim finally answered accompanied with a simple smile.

Joseph laughed slightly, “Why, thank you.”

Rebecca lowered the chain against her light blue top and returned her hands to the cutlery in front of her. “At first I was thinking when we got to Earth that I would resize the ring to fit my finger,” she began. “But I think it’s nice on my mother’s old chain.”

“Is the ring yours?” McCoy asked, finally realizing why it was such a grungy looking piece.

“It was my father’s,” Joseph smirked. “I had nothing else to propose with down there. If I had been back on Earth, I would have used a nice _stone,_ as you said doctor.”

“And it worked perfectly actually,” Rebecca insisted.  “I work with my hands a lot, so this way I can always wear it, even as I work.”

Joseph’s smile was almost as attractive as Rebecca’s. He didn’t expose his teeth as much as she did, but there was a crooked allure to it. The combination of his lopsided grin and the thick-rimmed glasses reminded Jim of his childhood. He remembered curling up on the floor in front of the old holovision with his brother Sam. Both of them would be in tears watching twentieth century comedies of Peter Sellers. Ever since then, Jim had always been charmed by thick-rimmed spectacles.

“Now those glasses,” Jim commented at the oddity of them in the twenty-third century. “Where did you manage to get a pair of those?”

Joseph nodded humorously, as though he’d been asked multiple times. This was most likely the case. “Well, it wasn’t cheap,” he laughed as he wiped his mouth off on a nearby napkin. “My sight is really awful, Captain, and I have a sort of allergy to Retinax.”

“So does the captain,” McCoy snorted. “The stuff’ll paralyze him in seconds.”

“Well,” Joseph leaned back into his chair. “I prefer the old fashioned way better anyways,” he tapped his forefinger against the thick black rim.

“That makes the two of us,” Jim agreed with a laugh.

Scotty shifted at the end of the table. “Now I cannot help but ask, but can yah tell us anything about this project of yers?” he asked in fascination, “I mean, how can a measly thing like Renneral replace an entire dilithium crystal in the warp core engine? I have to know.”

Sovik stiffened at the mention of his project. His eyes turned away from his meal to Scott, who was looking back at him inquisitively. There was no show of annoyance on the Vulcan, but that much was to be expected. He simply pushed the plate before him further along the table so that he could fold his hands together and rest them on the lace tablecloth.

“Renneral is a member of the hypersonic series,” he explained blandly.

“I’ve heard that much, Sir, but I mean I cannot believe that this element was just sitting around on some planet without anybody noticing!” Scotty exclaimed in amazement.

“I must agree with our Chief Engineer. Even dilithium crystals experience the piezoelectric effect,” Jim joined in curiously. “I haven’t heard of anything like that happening in the universe that can’t be explained by the ten hypersonic series elements that are already known.”

“Known to man,” Spock clarified to the captain. “When considering the vastness of space, and how long it has been changing and forming, man has only recently begun to study it.”

Jim placed his hands under the table and onto his lap. As he turned his hand from the top of his right thigh to the edge, he could feel Spock’s leg brush against the back of his fingers. From their brief encounter, Jim could feel the heat that his first officer often radiated. Though Spock had mentioned multiple times to Jim that the average temperature on the Enterprise was quite cold for him, Spock still managed to maintain a very warm body temperature.

The conversation carried on as Jim slowly made his way back from his thoughts.

“Commander Spock is correct. Since we have only just discovered the material, it is not yet known if it holds the same conditions required for piezoelectric combustion,” Sovik glanced at Spock proudly.

There was absolutely no reason for such a look. What did Sovik have to be proud of? Other than his new discovery, and the fact that he had green blood like Spock, there was no reason he should feel proud of someone who had nothing to do with any of those things. Jim, on the other hand, had every reason in the universe to feel proud of Spock. As both a captain and friend, Jim felt like the luckiest man in the world to know Spock.

“Alright, so it’s a member of the hypersonic series. How does it do what a dilithium crystal is capable of?” Scotty asked, leaning in his chair with an unconvinced smirk.

“Well, Renneral is somewhat of a clay like substance,” Rebecca chimed in. By the way she spoke, it was no wonder she was second in command of the project. Her passion was vibrant in her voice. “Like clay, it comes in many forms. It can be dry, wet, soupy, and so on,”

“We boarded a variety of the different types with us,” a blonde male from the RU-598 group added.

The feeling of irritation seemed to come in from Sovik’s side of the table. As Jim turned to face him, Sovik was glaring at his own people. “Renneral has tiny pores which allow the light emitted from the light-element antimatter to travel through. It withstands the pressures of the high inner temperatures of the warp core, as well as the high radiation of its electromagnetism,” the older Vulcan explained. He held himself as if he were the key stone of the group. It was as if his words were much more powerful than the others.

Jim peered over toward his science officer, who was squinting curiously at the conversation. He always enjoyed feeding Spock’s interest of science. As much as Spock would deny it, he had been thinking about this project from the moment Starfleet had begun funding it. He had mentioned it to Jim casually on every now and then, but it did not reflect the deep fascination he had for it.

“Fascinating,” Spock finally concluded, resting two fingers over his lips as he often did when deep in thought.

“How did you and your team discover this Renneral?” McCoy asked.

“ _They_ didn’t,” Sovik explained harshly. “It was a project between me and,” Sovik paused for a moment. The sudden silence felt odd to the rest of the table.

Jim briefly made eye contact with his Chief Medical Officer, both of them feeling awkward from Sovik’s growing pause. They weren’t sure whether they should offer assistance or wait.

Sovik eventually spoke again, “I discovered it.” There was a sense of finality in his voice.

“Well, congratulations,” McCoy grumbled, feeling thrown off by Sovik’s strange attitude. He took another sip from his drink to somehow conceal his discomfort.

Sovik stared disgustedly across the table towards McCoy. Suddenly nobody around him existed besides the doctor. “There is no need to commend one for predestined discoveries. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been another. Renneral has been on Stronos for thousands of years.” He narrowed his slanted brows disapprovingly.

McCoy’s only capable response was to raise an eyebrow. Had Spock made that annoyingly logical reply, he would have given him a taste of his own medicine; however, McCoy was looking at himself as an example to the captain.

“Well, it’s a human custom to congratulate others on their accomplishments, Sovik,” Jim forced himself to explain kindly. “This finding will no doubt make you very very rich.” Jim sipped his wine.

Sovik glared at both McCoy and the captain, his eyes thin slits of anger and repulsion. It had been the most emotion he had seen from the Vulcan. Sovik’s nostrils flared angrily, as he fisted his hands together tightly on top of the table.

As soon as Jim had caught sight of the odd display of emotion, Sovik tucked his fists under the table and darted his eyes intensely back towards Spock. “It is quite relieving to know that you are aboard this ship, Commander Spock. I would have very little confidence in such an insultingly emotional crew.” Sovik’s eyes did not leave Spock’s. He simply paused for a moment to fold his napkin into his plate, “If you will excuse me, I believe I have had quite enough to eat. If I may, I will return to my quarters.” Without awaiting Spock or the captain’s consent, Sovik was fixing his loose Vulcan tunic over his body accordingly, and was then out of the room.

There was no chance for Jim to assign a guide to lead Sovik out, or to even apologize for whatever it was that had insulted him so dearly. The more he got to know Sovik, the more he wanted him off his ship.

“Is he normally this high strung?” McCoy asked Rebecca sternly as soon at the Vulcan was out of sight. He tried to hold himself back from using any of his derogatory terms he often used for Spock. The doctor literally bit his lip to stop himself.

The colour left Rebecca’s face, and for a moment Jim’s hand twitched upwards to assist her in case she was choking. The only sign of life was the heavy breathing she was struggling to catch. It was such a difference from the charm that Rebecca had formerly possessed.

Just as Joseph opened his mouth to answer, Rebecca’s eyes shot at him distressingly. It was as if they were communicating with Vulcan telepathy as they both only made small eye movements towards each other. Neither of them spoke.

“Yes,” Rebecca answered finally, still staring at her husband-to-be. “Sovik is a complicated man, Doctor.” Her charismatic tone was completely gone. “He’s incredibly intelligent, caring, and gentle. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he just has a bit of a temper, that’s all.”

Jim couldn’t help but witness the way that Joseph rolled his eyes at his fiancee’s words. It raised another layer of concern in Jim.

“It must be a Vulcan thing,” Rebecca suggested shyly, suddenly realizing Spock and his obviously pointed ears. “No offense.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did not reply.

Rebecca, lifted the napkin and dotted it over her lips, picking off some of her red lipstick along with it. “Now, this Renneral,” Rebecca began again, trying to change the topic with her cheery personality.

A million questions rolled through Jim’s mind. He wanted to ask whether or not Sovik _really_ discovered the material alone? Why was Sovik so defensive over the project? Why was Sovik so angry? However, Jim could not voice those questions now. Not over dinner. Not after what had just happened. He had been a host enough times to know that it was never a good idea to press conversations that made his guests uncomfortable. There would be time to question them later, just not now.

“It’s a truly magnificent material, Captain,” she claimed sternly. “It works just like a dilithium crystal, only its life is much longer than dilithium. As well it’s much easier to obtain. The entire planet is practically made out of it. There’s very little mining needed.”

“Well, that’s good,” McCoy answered, trying to put the awkwardness behind him. He poked his fork into his salad as he spoke. “Those mines can be dangerous to the respiratory system, not to mention cancerous.”

“Exactly,” Rebecca agreed. “Ships likes yours will be able to do warp 9 forever!” She laughed with enthusiasm.

“That is not possible, even for a newly discovered substance such as Renneral,” Spock pointed out. “It is physically not possible for a starship of this mass and dimension to travel the infinite measure of time, it would…”

Jim interrupted with a soft chuckle, “It’s a purposeful exaggeration Spock.”

Spock’s brow shot up at the constant way humans exaggerated without reason. It still seemed to catch Spock off guard. He had spent so long with humans, yet he still managed to get stuck on silly Terran ways of speaking. “Illogical,” Spock pointed out as he lowered his eyebrow again. He then set his fork onto his empty plate.

“I’m sorry. We should have warned you, this is a no fun zone.” McCoy rolled his eyes.

“No, that’s alright doctor,” Rebecca replied, holding back laughter. “We have a Vulcan as well, remember?”

“You poor soul,” McCoy whispered under his breath, quiet enough that nobody across the table heard him, but loud enough for a Vulcan to.

Spock lowered his hands underneath the table as Scotty continued the conversation regarding Renneral, trying to figure out some sort of flaw in their findings. His long Vulcan fingers rested on the tops on his knees, where Spock then turned over his right hand so that he could sneak a glance down at his palm. Jim watched as Spock looked over his pale greenish skin.

Slowly, as to not startle Spock, Jim leaned over to catch a glimpse at his friend’s injured hand. It hadn’t changed much from that morning, but the green that surrounded the cut was much bolder than it was before. It seemed that Spock had reopened the wound from handling his fork and knife. A bead of green blood surfaced from the opening, and Spock slightly winced at this.

Jim retrieved his unused napkin from under his knife. He gently handed the cloth to Spock. For a moment, Jim wanted to curl the material up himself, and softly dab the green blood off. He wanted to treat the painful gash on his friend’s hand, but Jim knew how much Spock kept his hands to himself. He knew that he did not wish to be touched, andit would have been extremely inappropriate to try.

“Are you okay?” Jim asked in a deep whisper.

Spock did not look up from his palm, and instead took the offered napkin and began to apply pressure to it. Jim almost flinched along with Spock. Vulcan hands were so much more sensitive than human ones, and every time he saw the bloody abrasion on Spock’s hand, he could only imagine the discomfort Spock was feeling.

“I am well,” Spock promised in a murmur. He balled up the tissue and held it in his fist as he lifted his head to their guests. It was clear that he did not want the others to think that there was something distressing him.

With nothing left to offer Spock, Jim returned his hands to his own lap. They subtly gravitated towards the edges of his legs where he could feel the heat of Spock’s body once again. A much-needed sigh left Jim.

He listened to the open discussion happening among the table. They had somehow moved from talking about the Renneral project and were now discussing the Enterprise and her former adventures. Jim had told the story of when one of their crewmembers had contracted a disease from the planet Psi 2000, and caused all the crew to act like emotionally compromised drunks. Rebecca had found the story to be the highlight of the dinner.

Since Rebecca was so light-hearted, Jim and McCoy retold the story of one of their shore leaves in the Omicron Delta system. Joseph had found that tale to be the most fascinating of all. He questioned the concept of a planet that could virtually give you anything you wanted. He simply did not believe them. McCoy stressed that even he didn’t believe it at times, and he been there.

As the discussion of their shore leave continued, Jim felt a strange sensation. The heat against the back of his hand had turned to fire. It wasn’t a discomforting feeling of fire at all. There was no burning, no blistering, but a comforting transfer of affection. Jim felt it all over his body.

Somewhere in Jim’s mind, he felt adoration. It was almost as if he could feel an epic sense of honor in his head, and it was all directed at him. He closed his eyes pleasantly as he marvelled at the sense of worship. Though the sensation was deep within his mind, and very weak, he could still feel it. He could not deny its presence.

Jim lowered his eyes towards his hand. He noticed how it was slipping further over the side of his lap. Against his own hand was the back of Spock’s. They were now pressing against each other, and that was where the source of the heat had come from.

It was startling at first. Jim wanted to pull his hand away, in order to make Spock more comfortable. He had just been thinking about how sensitive those hands were, and how he had to refrain from touching them in order to not stress Spock out. But, there was no movement from his Vulcan friend. As Jim sat in his spot, stiff and nervous, he did not feel Spock flinch away. Instead, Spock pressed his hand deeper into Jim’s touch.

_‘This isn’t happening,’_ Jim thought to himself as his heart began to shift into warp drive. He removed his gaze from where their bodies were touching, and he tried to appear as though he was looking over at Uhura, who was retelling another story. To Jim, it was all a jumbled blur. He was so engrossed by the odd interaction of his first officer, he couldn’t manage to clue into what she was saying.

Jim shifted his hand slightly and caressed his thumb down the edge of Spock’s sensitive hand. He tried to avoid the palm just in case it would set Spock off. He then waited for Spock’s reaction. Instead of any change in facial expressions, Jim felt the weak spot in his mind throb with delight, as if a wave of appreciation was emitting from Spock. When Jim returned his thumb to where it was resting earlier, that part in his mind began to ache for more.

Experimentally, Jim continued to stroke the soft skin of his first officer, still trying to avoid the palm. He felt happiness radiate through him. Jim desperately wanted to clear the table off and push Spock onto it. He wanted to cover his first officer in kisses, and to search his body for all his erogenous areas. He imagined Spock had a lot more that he didn’t know about. He pictured him having very sensitive nipples, and he wanted to nibble them and find out for sure. He wanted to test it for himself.

Or…

Jim would have been completely satisfied with simply holding Spock’s hand. He would be content with his fingers laced in his, and to carry on with the remainder of the meal as if nothing was different-- as if he and his first officer had been in love for years.

Spock once again pressed his hand into Jim’s. The feeling caused Jim to exhale nervously. It was odd to feel this way after having years of experience in romance. He had had tons of girlfriends and flings in his life, and yet here he was, blushing at the feeling of having his hand rub up against his crush’s. He felt somewhat pathetic.

What was even more disturbing to Jim was the way he felt his groin twitch with excitement. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way. He knew better than to think Spock and he would do anything more than this tonight, but Jim couldn’t help but get aroused by the anticipation. He felt as though he were fourteen again.

Spock stretched his fingers gracefully along the side of his leg, lifting them slightly and brushing the ends across Jim’s uniform pants. Jim swallowed hard.

“Didn’t they Jim?” a familiar voice interrupted, and Jim finally realized that someone was speaking to him.

“I’m sorry?” Jim asked, blushing intensely from being caught with his head in the clouds. He tried desperately to avoid the throbbing in his pants.

“The Balok, Jim. I was telling our guests about the way you bluffed our way out of that one,” McCoy explained, looking over at Jim suspiciously.

“Yes, it was a very risky move,” Jim agreed, his breath still slightly caught. Spock avoided eye contact with the rest of the table. His gaze locked on the flower arrangement in the center. Jim could still feel his hand pushing into his own.

The rest of the table continued the conversation, but McCoy couldn’t help but wonder about Jim’s behaviour. When the captain was unaware, McCoy began to stare at him, trying to piece together why he was behaving so nervously.

Then McCoy saw it.

Jim and Spock’s hand were closely tucked under the table, and from what McCoy could discern, Jim’s hand seemed to be moving gently. Though he couldn’t see the entirety of the situation, McCoy could only assume that there was _something_ going on.

That was it. That was what had caused all this nervousness from Jim. The captain and his first officer were hiding their affection under the table but acting as if they were undressing each other.

_‘Stop acting like princesses,’_ McCoy scoffed to himself, taking the final swig of his wine. ‘ _You really think none of us know?’_

-

 

The meal had been a success (aside from some prissy Vulcan drama), which was a tremendous weight off Jim’s shoulders. There would be no more fancy dinners with the RU-598 group and now he could focus on other matters.

The RU-598 group had finally left for their quarters, and a few ensigns had come in and began clearing the table. However, the room wasn’t empty just yet; Jim and McCoy were slowly finishing the last two cups of wine as Spock waited.

“I think you almost lost your temper back there,” Jim pointed out to McCoy with a smile.

McCoy sighed. “No, I didn’t. And even if I did, I didn’t,” he grumbled with one of his famous pouts. What had started as Jim’s obsessive hatred for the Vulcan had now become something Jim and he had in common.

“You most definitely almost lost your temper,” Jim continued to insist. “Which is very unlike you, Bones.” As Jim brought his glass to his lips to sip, he halted dramatically. “And to a Vulcan no less!”

Spock raised an eyebrow as he stood next to Jim, both of his hands meticulously placed behind his back.

“Well, _that_ Vulcan is really something else. He makes ours look like an angel,” McCoy quipped sarcastically.

Jim looked over at Spock curiously for his response. However, McCoy interrupted with a loud yawn. “Anyways, we’ll talk tomorrow Jim. I’m going to head off to bed.” McCoy handed his empty wine glass to a passing ensign. “Now, you two don’t stay up to late.” He rolled his eyes knowingly.

“We’ll be fine, Bones,” Jim insisted. “Good night.”

McCoy left the room, and headed down the hall towards his own quarters. As soon as he was gone, Jim gulped the last bit of his wine and turned to Spock. “You want to stay up anyways?” He smiled impishly.

Spock’s chest rose and fell without a sound. “I believe we should head toward our quarters.”

With a very small stumble, Jim straightened himself out and left the room with Spock, both of them staying relatively quiet.

A slight fuzziness came over Jim as he began to walk. He knew he wasn’t drunk since he was aware of his limit, and he most definitely did not surpass it with a few glasses of wine. Jim wasn’t a lightweight, and he knew better than to over drink at a formal dinner like this. No, Jim wasn’t intoxicated; he was just buzzed. The combination of the wine and feeling of happiness were making Jim feel light-headed. The memory of Spock’s flesh against his own left him in awe.

“Spock,” Jim said almost desperately. “Let’s play a round of chess.” He insisted, tugging on Spock’s shirt almost urgently.

Spock opened his eyes wide as he peered back at his captain, “Sir?” Spock answered his eyes then looking down towards his ruffled shirt. Jim had found a strange joy in wrinkling his shirt lately, he noticed. “Did you exceed your alcohol limit?”

“No,” Jim answered honestly, his smile still impossible to hide. “I just want to go to the observation deck.” ‘ _And kiss you silly,’_ Jim thought to himself.

Spock gently removed Jim’s hand from his tunic. He placed his hand underneath Jim’s arm and began to walk Jim over to the door of his quarters. “You have had a long day, Captain.”

“Spock,” Jim laughed. “We’re not on duty, you can call me Jim.”

Spock nodded gently at him, “Jim.” His name sounded so sweet in Spock’s velvety tone. It always made Jim shiver when he heard Spock say his name.

“You forgot to answer my question,” Jim continued, leaning against the wall separating his door from Spock’s.

“Your request to play chess?” Spock clarified, moving slightly closer to the wall. Jim nodded. “Jim, I must first remind you that Vulcan’s do not _forget_.” The corners of Spock’s lips twitched at the way Jim’s eyelids weighed down sleepily. “And secondly, I believe it would be most effectual to take advantage of this time for sleep. You would not wish for this to hurt your performance on the bridge tomorrow.”

His logic was as sound as ever. Jim felt a nervous flutter in his stomach at the thought of kissing him right there in the hall, on display for anyone and everyone to see. Jim wanted that, but at the same time, he was completely terrified by the thought.

“I must go to my quarters in order to meditate,” Spock continued. “I have neglected to do so for far too long, and I will be unable to successfully meditate if I remain awake any longer.”

Jim nodded. “Alright then Spock.” He felt a sad tug in his heart. “I’ll see you before our shift starts?” There was very little need to ask; they had gotten into a routine for the last year of waking up, eating breakfast and then walking up to the bridge together. There was no need to plan it out any more. It was a habitual occurrence now.

“Indeed you shall,” Spock replied as he opened the door to his quarters.

“Good night then,” Jim straightened himself out, and opened the doors to his iwn quarters, allowing himself in.

The space was quiet. “Lights 80 percent,” he spoke into the dark room, watching as the lights revealed what had just been hidden from the absence of them.

As soon as he reached his sleeping area, Jim instantly began to shed his shirt. McCoy wasn’t the only one that wanted to burn these uniforms. He had a deep desire to take a phaser gun to this one, and zap it into rubble. Still, he took it off, and neatly placed it in the hamper.

Once he was spared from the itchy uniform shirt, he then sat on the bed and began pulling and tugging at his boots. Finally, they slipped off in a fast and unexpected motion. Jim placed them at the end of the bed. As he did so, he wondered what Spock was doing at that very moment. He assumed he was meditating like he had mentioned earlier. He could see him now kneeling on that stone in the corner, eyes closed and serene.

Jim felt the twitch in his regulation pants again.

Every time he pictured Spock meditating, he felt a pang of excitement. When Spock had that peaceful expression on his face, and was quietly centered amid the scent of candles, Jim would lose it. There had been a time when Jim had walked in on Spock while he was on his stone. He remembered how placid Spock’s eyes had been, and it made Jim’s heart leap thinking about it again.

He wanted to hold Spock in his arms so badly. He wanted to take Spock’s slender body, and press his own against it-- to feel and smell his first officer, like he never had the chance to before. He wondered what it would feel like to card his fingers through the black strands of his hair, or to simply hug him and feel their cheeks against each other.

_What if that would never come?_ Jim wondered to himself. _What if Spock isn’t interested and you’re just making a fool out of yourself for no reason?_ _What if this ends like it did with Carol._

_‘We’re two completely different people, Jim, both heading in completely different directions.’_ He envisioned Spock saying to him as Carol had.

They weren’t exactly headed in different directions, he and Spock-- at least not to the extent that he and Carol had been. Still, the future was uncertain. As Spock always said, “ _There are always possibilities._ ” In this case, the possibility of being rejected by Spock was daunting.

Jim needed a distraction. He lifted himself from the bed as if he weighed a thousand pounds, and then headed for the joined bathroom. He stripped the rest of his clothes, tossed them to the side and stepped into the shower. He thought for a moment on simply using the sonics, but for some illogical reason, Jim felt the need to have water touch his skin.

The water started off cool, and slowly built into a reassuring blanket of warmth. The initial feeling of the cold water snapped Jim out of the thoughts regarding Carol, and the heat helped remind him of Spock. He began rubbing at his skin, removing all the grime of the day. There wasn’t much to remove, but Jim felt better knowing he did a complete scrub down.

Jim sighed at the thought of his day so far. The memory of Sovik in the transporter room, and then again during dinner made his blood boil. He hated just _thinking_ about that Vulcan. The way he had looked at Spock and gaped at him made Jim feel uncomfortable. And then, again at dinner, Sovik had tried so hard to separate the rest of the table from him and Spock, as if the world around them didn’t matter.

_‘Stop thinking about that Vulcan while you’re in the shower_ ,’ Jim scolded humorously to himself. He did have a point though, there was most definitely a different Vulcan he should be focusing on.

The image of Spock kneeling on that damn stone came back into Jim’s mind. He closed his eyes and pictured it perfectly… the stillness, the deep thought, the way the light from the candles flickered against his pointed ears. There was another twitch in his groin.

Without consciously thinking to do so, Jim wrapped his hand around his cock gently and began rubbing his fingers over the sides and then the top. His eyes remained closed as he continued to picture the loveliness of his first officer.

He pictured Spock’s eyes opening, and his hands lowering from their meditative position in front of him, and instead grasping at Jim’s thighs. Jim knew better, but for a moment, he could almost feel Spock’s breath moving across his skin, as if he were actually there kneeling in the shower in front of him. He stiffened at the thought.

Jim outwardly moaned, thinking of how it would feel to have Spock’s mouth wrapped around him. He imagined it would be as hot as the showering water around him, possibly hotter. He could picture Spock’s eyes looking up at him while he gulped and sucked around Jim, trying to swallow the entirety of his member. Jim moaned again, his hand working vigorously around his twitching organ.

Soon Jim lost track of what was real and what was not. He started thrusting into his fist, desperately envisioning the way Spock would feel around him. He imagined the inside of Spock’s mouth feeling like velvet, and smoothly encasing his cock as he rhythmically bobbed his head up and down. He could even feel how Spock’s teeth would gently scrape against the tip of his cock, sending excited shrills up Jim’s spine.

There was a small sense of guilt residing within Jim. He felt almost selfish for fantasising about his first officer like this. It was _almost_ selfish. Jim wanted to shower Spock in love and affection, and  he wanted to explore Spock’s entire body-- to claim every inch of it for his own. He wanted so badly, to share the experience with Spock so badly, he wanted to make him moan and groan like no one had ever made him before. He wanted to blow that logical mind out the window.

Jim thought of how Spock would look like drenched in the running water. He pictured those perfectly shaped bangs sticking to his forehead, and the way his ears would stand out against the flat black strands. The vision caused for Jim to increase his speed. He was now tugging on himself, mouth agape allowing streams of water to dribble in and out. His eyes were shut tightly, as he continued the picture Spock sucking on him dramatically.

Jim lathered his fingers with a bar of soap, and brought it to his erect penis. His fingers moved along it expertly, along the sensitive shaft over and over again. He toyed with the end, pinching it slightly and then caressing the edges.

Suddenly his mind brought him to the edge, as he envisioned Spock releasing Jim from his mouth and whispering, ‘ _Jim,’_ in that smooth yet husky tone Jim craved.

White strings of cum sprayed up onto the fogged glass of the shower door, and instantly ran down the slippery edge. Jim did not have the focus to watch it creep down the edge of the shower glass; instead he tried to control his voice from getting too loud. He didn’t think to engage the privacy lock before he got into the shower. If Spock was still awake, Jim didn’t want to risk him hearing anything.

Jim slowly collected himself again, falling back from his self-created high. Though he successfully climaxed and was now growing soft, Jim still felt a sense of frustration. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to be a fool, jacking himself off in the shower to the thought of his first officer. He wanted to share the experience with Spock. He wanted to take him and Spock even higher than he had gone tonight.

“Shower off,” Jim huffed in an exhausted breath. The water circled around the drain, mixing the sweet scent of the soapsuds and the semen down with it. The image of Spock seemed to seep down the drain as well as Jim stepped out from the shower, trying to catch his breath.

Jim tried to forget about what had just happened, as he ruffled his hair in a towel and brushed his teeth. He couldn’t handle thinking about him any more. If he did, he would begin to feel guilty again. It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t ever masturbated before, but there was something embarrassing about doing it to the thought of his good friend Spock.

After brushing through his hair, Jim wrapped the towel around his waist tightly. He had finally caught his breath and was walking back to his quarters comfortably, he had successfully managing to convince himself that all he needed was rest to help ease his mind.

As Jim shuffled through his drawers looking for his underwear, he felt a hard object among the piles of clothes. At first, the feeling of a box in his pants drawer was concerning, until Jim finally remembered what he had stowed away. He pulled the object out gingerly.

Jim brought the box to his bed, where he lifted off the top and peered inside. One of the first things he saw was a chess piece-- a rook to be exact. There was nothing outwardly unique about it. However, the piece was something special to Jim. It had been the one that had frustrated the hell out of Spock. It was _the_ chess piece. The one that got away. The one that they had spent over an hour searching the observation deck for. They never did find it that day. It wasn’t until Jim had run in there during one of their adventures when he had taken refuge under a bench, that he found the piece wedged behind one of the plants in the far corner. How it managed to get all the way over there, Jim wasn’t sure. He had yet to give the piece back to Spock.

Other than the chess piece, Jim’s eyes were drawn to the small black box on the side. When he placed his fingers over it, a horrid feeling of insecurity built up inside him.

Still, Jim tilted the top of the box open, looking over the tiny diamond ring inside. It was stunning, yet simple. He remembered the day he found it. It was in a small shop in Brooklyn, New York. Jim and Carol had only been dating for five months at that time. And though it wasn’t like him to jump into a long term relationship just like that, he remembered feeling an overwhelming urge to purchase the ring. It was almost as if he had fallen in love with it at first sight.

Jim never imagined he would fall for Carol so hard, and he especially didn’t think he would end up wanting to marry her. After he bought the ring, he kept it in his sock drawer back at the Academy for four months until he decided it was time to pop the question.

Luckily, Jim didn’t love Carol anymore. There was absolutely no attraction to the woman what-so-ever. Of course, he still found her to be a beautiful-looking lady, with striking eyes and hair, but he found her to be no different than all the other good looking blondes in the world. The charm and wit he had once associated with her was gone. She was an empty vessel of memories that Jim would do fine without remembering.

In fact, there was a part of Jim that hated her. She had been the one who ripped his security away. She showed no remorse for breaking his heart. Instead, she made it seem as though she was doing him a ‘favour’. In many ways, that was true. Carol and Jim were not meant to be together and somewhere out there, Jim had a soul mate who was made just for him, and the same went for Carol. Both of them were meant to find another and move on.

The more Jim looked at the small band, the more he learned to love it again. The simplicity and the elegance he saw the day he picked it out suddenly reminded him of Spock. Upon viewing it the first time, it seemed like just another ring with a hard, strong rock centered in the middle of it. There was nothing exquisitely different about this ring compared to all the other ones. Then, when looking deeper into it, Jim could see the complexities of the diamond-- how it shimmered in different lights. It was more than just a marvelous stone, it was intricate and unique. There was no other diamond just like this one in the world.

Jim tried to recall what Carol had thought of the ring. Then it dawned on Jim that she never gave Jim the chance to open it, to show her just what he wanted her to have. She had simply rejected him the moment she saw the box. She would never know what beauty existed inside, and perhaps that’s why she hadn’t allowed him to show her. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see someone else’s ring.

Jim smiled. The ring was not Carol’s as he had thought for years now; it was his. Yes, Jim had bought it with the purpose of giving it to Carol, but it was not _hers_. For years, Jim had hid the box away in fear of what it meant. He knew that every time he saw the small box, it would remind him of Carol’s cruel words, leaving him broken and sorry.

But Jim knew he could reclaim the ring, and love it again. There had to be a reason he had fallen in love with it in the jewellers years ago, why that ring stood out to Jim among all the others.

Jim removed the ring from the box, looking it over in more detail. He noticed a flat edge on the inside of the band, and he rubbed his finger along it carefully. A smile grew on Jim’s lips.

After feeling the cold interior of the ring, Jim tried to push it onto his finger with no success. Suddenly, the memory of Rebecca came into his mind and Jim shuffled in the drawer, digging for some sort of chain to replicate the way that she had put her engagement ring around her neck.

Unfortunately, Jim didn’t have a chain. He never liked the way jewellery looked on him and he saw no point to keeping any on the Enterprise when he couldn’t wear it with his uniform. But Jim wasn’t all out of luck. From under a bundle of socks, Jim found an old strap from a tricorder. It had been a part of Spock’s first on the ship, back when Pike was in charge. As Jim had recalled Spock saying, this model was extremely flawed because the old strap was constantly breaking under the weight of the tricorder. Why Jim had it in his sock drawer, he’d never know.

It was perfect though since it was more of a string than a flat edged strap like the ones they used today. It was thin enough to weave through the ring and that was all that mattered.

Rebecca might have had an ugly ring with an elegant chain, but at least Jim had an elegant ring on an ugly string. The thought made him laugh.

He slowly slid the thick black string through the middle of the band and tied off the end so that it would not slip off. He then smiled at his new creation. He had taken the beautiful stone that had once brought him such pain, and he had made it into… this.

He laughed again at how odd it looked.

Somehow, even on the old beat up tricorder strap, the ring was beautiful. It reminded Jim even more of Spock. It must have been the fact that the strap belonged to him, or it had to do with the illogic the whole thing. Either way, Jim felt like he had fallen in love with the ring all over again. The hurt and discomfort it had once stood for was gone, and all because Jim had added a bit of Spock to it.

-

 

“Well don’t you look well rested,” McCoy commented, as Jim came nearly prancing into sickbay. It only confirmed his fears from the previous night. Either Jim had either _stayed up_ , or beaten the Vulcan scientist to a pulp. He was at a complete loss to figure out which it was.

“I’d say so,” Jim replied with a content smile. “I’ve had a good sleep, a great morning. Not even Sovik can ruin this day for me.” He laughed, slapping McCoy on the back.

“Is that all?” McCoy joked back, not seriously wanting the true answer to that. He wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of Jim and Spock having a sex life. He shivered at the idea. He could live without the thought of his two best friends performing the horizontal mambo.

He loved Jim, and he respected Spock more than the Vulcan would ever know. He had always assumed that Jim and Spock had _something_ going on, but he didn’t think much of it. He didn’t want or need to know what they were doing in their spare time. But there was always something about the way Jim looked at Spock, and the way that nobody could make Spock smile but Jim. He would never forget the way Spock had swung Jim around, a smile beaming on his face following his Pon Farr incident. Was that something that just friends did? If that was a common display of companionship, then McCoy had a serious lack of friends.

There had been a time when McCoy looked at someone the way that Jim and Spock looked at each other. After all, he had, in fact, fallen in love with Jocelyn. He remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He had met her in high school, and they had interchanged those flirtatious glances just as his commanding officers did. He would take any opportunity to brush his hand against her, stand next to her or talk to her. He assumed that was how Jim was feeling too.

It scared McCoy that Jim had been so similar to him and Jocelyn. Even after McCoy had sacrificed everything to be with her, he still ended up alone and heart broken. In the middle of the night, McCoy had found out Jocelyn was leaving him for some man and taking his daughter. Things weren’t perfect between him and his ex, but even that was a low blow. McCoy had no other choice but to leave Earth and join Starfleet. He often joked about how during the divorce, Jocelyn managed to take everything from McCoy including the Earth. It was some way that McCoy had felt better about what had happened.

Would Spock do the same? No, McCoy was positive Spock would never leave Jim without a warning. He knew that Spock cared deeply for him, as well as it was simply not in Spock’s nature to do something like that. But, Spock was a Vulcan-- a damn, cold-blooded hobgoblin. He couldn’t be certain that the lack of emotion wouldn’t end up killing Jim. It would either hurt Jim, or drive Jim into hurting Spock. He didn’t want either of them to feel the pain of losing love, or losing what could have been. It would be a whole lot easier if they could just remain friends. That had been his motto for some time: You can’t get your heart broken if you never leave it out to get stolen.

What Spock needed was a Vulcan for himself. A nice little Vulcan lady (or man) for him to speak of logic with. That way, nobody would want to rip the pointed ears off one another. He needed someone of his own kind to understand him in a way that he was sure Jim would never be able to do.

Yet, who and what was Spock? What was his own kind, even? As McCoy had learned upon his first meeting with the Vulcan, there were very few places where Spock truly fit in. Too Vulcan for Earth, too human for Vulcan. It was a vicious cycle that McCoy almost felt sorry that Spock had to experience. If McCoy found it hard to stay on Earth after the divorce from feeling as though there was nobody there for him any more, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not belong anywhere in the galaxy.

Could that be why Jim and Spock had found each other? Was that why Spock could abandon his beloved logic and love Jim? Was it because Jim completed that other half of Spock?  Most likely. And the more McCoy thought about it, Spock kind of completed Jim, too, always being there to steer him straight and center him.

“Bones,” Jim began to speak, bringing the doctor out from his thoughts. “Have you seen Sovik today?” He asked as he sat down at McCoy’s desk.

The doctor simply shook his head, “I haven’t left med bay all morning, Jim. But I’d imagine he’s in the lab working on that Renneral stuff. I can’t imagine him letting anybody else touch it.”

Jim sighed; it was just as he didn’t let anybody look or touch Spock _._ “You know,” Jim mumbled. “I have a really bad feeling about that guy.”

“I know,” McCoy laughed, looking over at the chronometer. He had a schedule he had to stay on top of, and had a surgery to perform that afternoon. “You’ve told me.”

“But I mean, beyond him being a pain in the backside,” Jim seethed through his teeth.

“That’s an understatement,” McCoy grumbled.

“I just have this feeling about him. Like there’s something really off.” Jim rested both of his elbows on top of the desk in a scheming way.

McCoy shook his head disappointedly. “Jim, look at yourself,” He gestured at the cynical way Jim was postured over the desk. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep thinking about Sovik like that. You heard Rebecca last night; Sovik wouldn’t hurt a fly,”

Both of them knew that wasn’t the problem. Neither of them were worried that Sovik was going to hurt anybody. It was Spock. If they could hide Spock away and have him never come into contact with that skeevy Vulcan scientist, then everything would be alright with Jim. There would be no reason to be upset. Sovik would go about the ship like the asshole he was, and Jim would be able to talk to his first officer as he pleased without caring at all what Sovik did in his spare time.

But that wasn’t the case. Spock was the science officer, and first officer of the ship. To have this experimental group working in one his labs and never speak to Sovik was not possible.

“I know,” Jim promised. “Hopefully things will get better.”

“They will, Jim,” McCoy assured him. “Just go to the bridge and forget about it, or play chess with Spock, whatever you do with your time. _I’ve_ got work to do.”

The doctor nearly swept Jim out of his office, following him out so that he could prepare for the surgery he was about to perform on one of the engineers. Just as Jim was halfway out the door McCoy called out after him, “Oh and Jim?” The captain turned around to face him. “Don’t go to the lab and start trouble. Can you do that?”

Could he do that? He was talking to the captain of the U.S.S Enterprise. He had grown out of that jealous, possessive stage and was old enough to realize that Spock was his own person who could make his own decisions.

Still, Jim had a hard time physically promising the doctor that he wouldn’t stop by, or check up on things. But Jim had to promise, not only to McCoy but also to himself. He would _not_ go to the lab to make sure that Spock and Sovik weren’t interacting. He couldn’t do that to Spock or himself. That would be an unnecessary weight for Jim to carry around. It was true, there was nothing Jim could do about it. Spock was his own, and he had the ability to say no if he wanted, and to say yes if he pleased. He would just have to have faith in Spock to make the right decision.

… That was _if_ he was given the chance to decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry to those who might find this ff is moving slowly.. I promise you all that the ‘fun’ stuff is coming up soon and when it comes up you might miss these easygoing days lol. I needed this chapter to get a lot of information across.
> 
> ANYWAYS… let me know what you think! I hope you all continue reading. As always, Live Long and Prosper friends <3


	5. Something's Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -.- this chapter was beyond stressful. A little fun fact about myself... I'm currently in university getting my doctors in Psychology with a minor is gender studies.... meaning I HAVE BEEN SWAMPED with exams this week. SO I wrote this chapter during my study breaks, so I will forever associate this chapter with the stress of studying, and I hate it!! haha.
> 
> ANYWAYS, a thank you to plaidshirtjimkirk, my incredible Beta who definitely saved this chapter!! :D Well, ... saved the entire story so far tbh. <33 Love her.
> 
> BUT also a thank you to those dedicated readers, RowanBaines, M, rosemanon, Baliano711! You all really made this journey of publishing for the first time an incredible experience. I feel so confident now!!!!!! THANK YOU 
> 
> .. and of course to ALL my readers, I want to thank you. :) LLAP to all, and please enjoy chapter 5, Something's Burning.

**Something’s Burning**

 

Spock strode down the hall with his head turned down toward his PADD. Even with his attention slightly diverted to the small device in his hands, he still managed to expertly weave his way in and around the crowd of people occupying the hall. As he passed, the crew members tried to be on their best behaviour. That was what was nice about being the first officer of the Enterprise. He held such power on the ship that there was barely ever a time when Spock had to ask something of the crew twice. He knew it wasn’t all in respect to his position as first officer and that his Vulcan blood had something to do with it. For some reason, the crew was somewhat intimidated by his Vulcan half.

However, Spock wasn’t looking to give any crew members trouble, or to observe their work ethics. He had other things to do.

Finally, he reached the large doors to the lab on deck three. As Spock entered the room, he instantly transferred the notes he was reading over on his PADD onto the main computer on the right side of the door. It was usually the first thing he did when he entered any lab.

After completing his routine, Spock, walked further into the room with his hands tucked behind his back, the PADD still firmly in grasp. He ended up transferring the device from his right hand to his left in discomfort. Since he did not have the chance to properly meditate the night before, he had not had the opportunity to tend to his injury. His right palm was still tender and sore. Spock was definitely sure he would begin meditation early today in order to begin healing; until then he would try not to let it bother him.

As he reached the main room, he noticed two members of the RU-598 group hunched over a large black clump, both of them wearing goggles as they poked and prodded the blob. Spock raised an eyebrow. Fascinating.

Nobody seemed to hear Spock come in, as two more members entered from the side room and began setting up one of their scanners on the right table furthest from the experiment with the black glob. It didn’t seem to bother Spock any. In fact, he preferred to step in unnoticed and view what the crew was working on in its most natural state.

“Commander Spock,” a voice called out from behind Spock.

Spock turned around and raised an eyebrow at Sovik, standing tall and mysterious in the doorway Spock had just entered through.

“Sovik,” Spock bowed his head respectfully. “I have come to offer my assistance to you and your team if the need arises,” he offered as Sovik approached him.

Upon Sovik’s advancement, he could feel the Vulcan’s gaze bearing deeper and deeper into his own. Finally, he stopped at about half an arm’s length away from him, his head lifting. “You are quite considerate, Commander Spock,” he noted softly. “Much of an improvement over your captain.”

Spock didn’t have a chance to deny Sovik’s words, even though he would have liked to. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his captain’s etiquette. In fact, Jim was known across the Federation for his kindness and selflessness. It was what awarded him this project of transporting Sovik and his crew from Stronos to Earth. Sovik should have been grateful for Jim’s kindness.

However, Sovik began to speak again, “I am pleased that you are here.” He motioned Spock to follow him into the dimly lit room on the side. “I do indeed require your assistance.”

Spock followed the older Vulcan, realizing the height difference between them. For whatever reason, Spock hadn’t realized how tall Sovik was until they were walking around the lab together. He wasn’t so tall that Spock had to list his chin to see him, but  Sovik was nearly a head taller.

As Spock entered the room behind Sovik, he could smell a very strong and peculiar odour. It was not so disturbing that Spock felt the need to shield his nose, but he did find himself involuntarily wrinkling it in displeasure for a moment.

The further they moved into the room, the stronger the smell became. For a moment Spock closed his eyes to shield his olfactory nerves in his brain, trying to desensitize it from the pungent smell. After a couple seconds of some mental preparation, Spock opened his eyes and inhaled.

Now that he was no longer distracted by the environment and its strange odours, Spock had a chance to acknowledge where that smell had come from. As strange as the smell was, there was something intoxicating about the aroma. It had gone from a burning plastic scent to something that reminded him of Earth. The smell had reminded Spock of his first trip to his mother’s home planet.

 

Amanda had taken him to meet some of their relatives, but what was truly the highlight of the trip was the countless hours he had spent in the back yard. It was mid July when they visited (warm enough to go without a sweater in Spock’s opinion), and he recalled exploring his uncle’s backyard, sifting through the rocks by the creek, and finding all sorts of wildlife, vegetation, and stones. The smell of the lab was very much the same as the combination of ones in his memories. The smell of wood, mud and freshly trimmed grass.

For a moment, Spock closed his eyes and envisioned himself there. The feeling of discovery, and mystery. That had been the first trip Spock had ever taken to his mother’s home, and the first time he had ever met his human relatives. The trip was beautiful, and ever since then, Spock had a dear fascination with Earth. There were so many varieties of colours and plants. In all, it had been an amazing experience. Aside from the arguments and emotionality that had broken out between his mother and her family, it was one of his most cherished memories.

When Sovik suddenly spoke, Spock opened his eyes, reminding himself that this was no place to be thinking of the past.

“Lights at fifty percent,” Sovik commanded the computer as one of the Enterprises’ science officers had shown him earlier that day.

When the lights had finally rose enough for Spock to see his surroundings, he instantly sought out the source of the powerful odour. It was clear to see that there were many possible culprits among the room. There were many opened and unopened boxes stored around the room messily, as well as various bottles full of curious potions. There were pots of various materials scattered on the desk, and a strange looking plant sitting on the floor, pressed into one of the corners. Spock assumed that it had been the source of the strange scent.

Curiously, Spock approached the plant with caution. “This is an interesting specimen, Sovik. Did you obtain it from the planet Stronos?” Spock asked, bending slighting to look it over closely.

It was unlike any plant from Earth or Vulcan. It looked almost as if it were made of aluminum, like a coat of armour protecting it. Spock squinted at the stem of the plant, which was covered in tiny ridges that traveled up to the top. The tip of the plant veered off into three separate pipe like structures, with openings that looked like a gaping mouth, opening and closing casually. Spock raised an eyebrow at the remarkable individuality of the plant. He was wishing more than ever that he had a chance to visit the planet when they had picked up the research team.

“Fo-weinvaksur,” Sovik informed him, coming uncomfortably close behind him. He stood straight behind Spock, his pelvis area nearly touching Spock’s hip.

Without giving Sovik’s position much thought, Spock lowered himself into a kneeling stance next to the plant. He pouted his lips thoughtfully, “Armoured beauty,”  Spock translated as he further admired the unique plant in front of him.

“I found the name fitting,” Sovik continued, as he shifted his body over so that he could watch Spock inching forward to touch the plant.

“I wish to obtain some readings from this plant, if it is alright with you, Sir,” Spock asked, with a respectful nod. He stood at full attention in front of the other Vulcan; both had their hands proficiently placed behind their backs. Spock’s eyes only moved from Sovik’s once, as he glanced over Sovik’s ears, so similar to his.

“It would be my honor to allow you to use your instruments on the fo-weinvaksur,” Sovik agreed, following Spock as he reached for a spare tricorder sitting in a cupboard by the door. He watched at the half Vulcan skillfully began running the device along the edges of the plant.

After receiving promising results, Spock felt safe in finally reaching out and touching the plant. The texture was not what he had expected from an armoured beauty. The plant was remarkably warm and what looked to be chrome edging was actually quite soft. When Spock pulled his fingers back, he felt a sticky residue where he and the plant were once touching.

“A fascinating specimen, is it not?” Sovik asked from the side of the room, his hand no longer behind his back. They were instead placed on top of a nearby desk, tapping silently along the edge.

Now that Spock had a scientific task, he became oblivious to the tapping coming from Sovik’s end of the room. “Agreed.” He reached for a swab from a nearby jar, and gently rubbed it down the side of the plant, picking up a sample of the sticky material that was secreting from the exterior of the plant.

“Fascinating,” Spock commented as he sponged another sample from the plant, and placed it in a small, sealed box. “Similar to the Earth plant titled the Venus Flytrap, this plant allures nearby threats with it most attractive exterior. When the threat is in close range, the adhesive coating restricts the invader’s movements, and therefore renders it helpless.” Spock nodded, “Most ingenious.”

“There are many intelligent features to this particular variety of plant.” Sovik once again neared Spock at an uncomfortable range, the heat of his body reaching Spock’s. “You no doubt experienced the heated shell,” Sovik noted, placing his hand close enough to the stem of the plant to feel the radiating warmth.

“Indeed,” Spock inclined his head curiously at the other Vulcan’s hand.

“As I have mentioned to you earlier, Stronos has a very unpredictable climate. This specimen, stores the necessary heat in what we refer to as Falek receptacles.” He directed Spock’s attention to where the plant was rooted into the pot of dusty black material. Once Spock was looking into the pot, Sovik pulled a root from the black dirt beneath it.

The stringy root moved slowly in Sovik’s hand, looking remarkably similar to a reptile. Its movements were sharp and quick, as if the plant were desperately panicking. Perhaps it was fearing the concept of being removed from its cozy pot, or maybe it was just growing cold from the brisk temperature in the laboratory. On the end of the grey coloured root, Spock noticed a tiny bulb in which Sovik was signalling with his other hand.

“Here it probes the surface of the planet, and examines the changing temperatures. Since the planet Stronos is mainly made up of Renneral and a terra firma of sorts, the temperature travels much more rapidly. Thus, the plant is able to dictate what temperatures to regulate for itself,” Sovik released the plant.

Sovik peered up toward Spock, watching as his emotionless expression changed into one of astonishment. The root slowly travelled across the dirt and found a comfortable spot to re-enter the soil. It moved lovingly across the chosen spot, and slowly bore its way in. Spock peered up at Sovik.

“A remarkable seedling, Sir,” Spock commented, his mind fluttering with the multitude of experiments he wished to perform on the now content plant sitting before him.

With less enthusiasm, Sovik nodded, and returned to the desk where he had set out three separate boxes. Spock vigilantly followed Sovik and stood placidly at his side.

Inside the boxes was a similar dusty material like the one that resided in the Fo-weinvaksur’s pot. As Spock leaned in toward the box, the initial stench Spock had experienced when entering the room came crashing against him once again, only this time he felt it urgently knocking against his mental shields. It was almost as if the smell was intoxicating him without any provocation.

Spock brought his fingers to his temple, and steadily strengthened his shields against the sudden impact of the dust. There was a tremendous pressure building up in his head, and gradually tingled down the bridge of his nose. Before Spock could ask Sovik the nature of the contents within the box, he began to take short, even breaths until he suddenly sneezed.

Sovik cocked a brow at the very out of character reaction. It wasn’t a common sight to see a Vulcan sneeze or cough. In fact, it was extremely rare. The older Vulcan opened his mouth to question, but before he could speak, Spock let out another painful sneeze. When the sudden fit was finished, Sovik lowered his brow, “Spock?”

“My apologies,” Spock snuffled to himself in embarrassment, trying to keep his face still and unbothered, even though he desperately wanted to claw at it and relieve it of the after-effects of his sneezing fit. It had been years since Spock had sneezed. In fact, Spock could only recall one instance when he had, and it had been only in his mother’s presence when they had been visiting Earth. She had fallen ill with a Terran condition called a cold, and Spock had contracted elements of it. He had developed a sore throat, as well as spent an afternoon sneezing. That had been the only time, and he had been six.

Even at the age of six, he had the ability to discern what was and what wasn’t proper Vulcan behaviour. He could remember clearly trying not to speak during his cold so that his mother would not hear the scratchy wheeze in his tone. However, after the sneezing had come, it was painfully difficult to ignore. His mother was in a panic faster than Spock had ever expected, trying every Terran remedy she knew to cure it. He never wished to go through such shame.

The older Vulcan offered Spock a cloth that was sitting on the desk adjacent to the table they were standing at. He silently handed the half-Vulcan the white napkin, and watched as Spock forcefully rubbed the cloth along his angular nose to relieve it of its itch.

After some time of rubbing and soothing his airways, Spock sighed from the final relief he felt. Even with the box close to him, he still was able to breathe comfortably.

“I apologize,” Spock repeated shamefully. “I am uncertain what caused that predicament.” He tossed the tissue into a nearby trash can. “It was most distasteful.” Those unpleasant sensations Spock felt as a child that day were once again present.

At first, Spock believed Sovik was disturbed by the human reaction he had to the strange dust, since Sovik did not say anything. Finally, when Spock drew himself closer to the box, Sovik then decided to speak. “Spock, son of Sarek.” The name was enunciated perfectly. He looked intently into Spock’s eyes.

There was no hiding now. Sovik had put all the clues together quite flawlessly. There was no way to conceal his human half from Sovik anymore. He could not lie for the illogical purpose of sparing one’s feelings. No. Spock would have to finally come clean to the older Vulcan about his dual heritage.

“You know of my father?” Spock chanced to ask, his eyes faltering as they met with Sovik’s. He then dropped them onto the box before them. As he awaited Sovik’s reply, Spock nonchalantly toyed with one of the nearby tricorders. He felt the illogical sensation of hope for a moment-- hoping that Jim would require his assistance and therefore page him to the bridge, giving Spock a reason for running out on Sovik. However, the chance never came as Sovik began to speak again.

“Indeed I do, however not to the extent of knowing him any more than an acquaintance would,” Sovik explained. “He is an impressive ambassador,”

“I am aware of my father’s capabilities,” Spock agreed. “It is an honor to be of his blood.”

“However,” Sovik started, resting his hand next to Spock’s on the table in front of them. “You are not as proud of your mother’s blood.” Rather than asking if this had been the case, Sovik posed the remark more as a statement, as though he had walked side-by-side with Spock his entire life, hearing and seeing everything Spock had.

Spock shuddered at the thought. It sounded remarkably cruel to speak of the woman who had brought him life in such a manner, but it was true. He was dearly ashamed of her red blood secretly intertwining with his own. How could he not be?

Amanda and Sarek’s love had costed Spock his reputation from the moment he was conceived. He was robbed of the luxuries other Vulcans had at birth. He was not born with the capability to shield like the others and had been late learning the nerve pinch.

Spock often wondered if his mother ever knew the way the other Vulcan children had treated him, merely for the colour of her blood. He wondered if she ever saw him biting his lip to hold back the illogical emotions she had given him. Yes, he was desperately ashamed of his human half.

Spock simply shook his head at Sovik, his eyes still trained on the table in front of them. “I do not hold dishonour against my mother’s blood. Dishonor is a form of humiliation which is an emotion I am incapable of,” Spock explained sharply, his hands going rigid next to Sovik’s. He didn’t even realize that the older Vulcan’s hands were so close to his own.

Spock hated speaking to others of his physiology, especially his own kind. What made it even more difficult to bear was the fact that Sovik had at one time held him in such high regard. What would Sovik think of him now?

It took Sovik some time to respond to Spock. He stood for a moment with his hand tapping against the cold metal table, his other hand resting behind his back. Finally he started again, his eyes tracing over the handsome features on Spock’s face. “I have always respected your father,” Sovik continued, diverting the conversation from Amanda and back to Sarek. “I knew him before you were born, though I was quite young.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, wanting to ask the Vulcan how old he was that had made it possible for him to know of him before his birth. He decided against it. It would be impolite to ask for such information. It was one custom that Vulcan and Earth had in common.

“I knew your father before he married Amanda.” Sovik turned his body slightly to face Spock, his fingers inching bit by bit, drawing nearer to Spock’s. “It was quite the news on Vulcan when he had married her.”

In hopes of redirecting the conversation, Spock responded in a sharp and uninterested tone. “I have heard.” Spock turned his body away from Sovik’s, dragging his hand off of the table after him and placing it behind his back.

In an attempt to avoid the conversation, Spock went in search of something to distract the conversation. He looked at his surroundings, but it was as if the world around him was nonexistent. Everything was in a clouded fog as Sovik did not take the bait, and continued speaking of the matter.

“Your father was a very daring individual.” Spock didn’t need to see Sovik to know that his expression was most likely one of amusement. “I was in Shi’Kahr during your birth. I was an adolescent at the time and remember it quite clearly.”

Sovik had neared him again as the hairs on the back of Spock’s neck slightly prickled. However, he was so entranced by Sovik’s persistence to retell his experience with his birth, he somewhat ignored the persistence of Sovik’s desire to be near him.

“You were quite the legend for some time,” Sovik began again with his shoulder mere inches away from Spock’s. “Some had called you a discredit to Vulcan, as well as an ethical complexity. Some had even termed you as a half-breed.”

‘Disloyal to the core! You belong in a circus, not a starship!’ For some reason, Jim’s words were echoing about in Spock’s head.

‘Does she know what she’s getting? A carcass of memory banks who should be squatting on a mushroom instead of trying to pass himself off as a man.’

‘You’re a traitor from a race of traitors.’

‘What makes you think you’re a man?’

‘… Mutinous, disloyal, computerized half-breed,’ …

Spock couldn’t help but feel his hands clench into a fist. The memory of the euphoric sensations of the spores withering away, and then reawakening to the sound of Jim attacking him with words, was a thought Spock tried to think of as little as possible. There had been nothing more hurtful than hearing those words leaving his captain’s lips.

The Vulcans Spock had grown up with were individuals that Spock had accepted such behavior, but Jim? Jim was kind, respectable, inclusive, humorous, accepting, and loving. To see him reflecting the behaviors of his tormentors was something Spock found difficult to bear.

That was the difference between Sovik and Jim. After the spores incident, Jim had made the effort to meet with him and apologize for the events that transpired in the transporter room. Spock understood the reasoning behind it and why it was necessary to insult him like he did. As Jim had termed it, “It was the only way to get you back!”. Even with the reasoning behind Jim’s actions, the captain seemed to be repulsed by his behaviour still. He apologized the moment after they left orbit, as they were walking down one of the halls to the mess hall. In Spock’s opinion, one apology was more than enough, but Jim had the illogical need to apologize to him thirty six times that entire week. Still, even though it was illogic to hear it over and over again, it felt really good to have Jim say he was sorry.

The half-Vulcan unclenched his fists and returned to where he had been standing at the table before.

Why couldn’t he find the words to express his displeasure for the topic? He was acting illogically. Why didn’t he explain to Sovik that though half-breed was a somewhat applicable term, it was still unwarranted. But Spock remained silent.

“When I had heard of your birth from the others, I remember anticipating your Ahm Gad, when they would name you in front of all of us.” Again, Sovik had turned to look at Spock, his eyes somehow forcing Spock to look into his own.

Spock felt like a cornered animal-- a cat with his claws peeking in uncertainty, readying himself for whatever was to come his way. He knew that verbal insults were illogical, especially since Vulcans didn’t have emotions to offended, but he still dreaded to hear them coming from Sovik. It wasn’t that the older Vulcan was someone Spock particularly cared to befriend, but he did feel the need to be accepted by him.

Like himself, Sovik was a brilliant scientist who was devoted to his studies and career. Spock found that there was many admirable traits in the Vulcan, and he wished to converse with another one of his own kind, just to say he belonged to Vulcan in some way. Sovik had truly been one of the few Vulcans who had included him, and Spock felt discouraged from having possibly lost that.

“Sovik,” Spock whispered unintentionally, almost in a pleading tone. His throat constricted suddenly, holding back any further attempts to speak. There was no logic to this. It was not sadness that had caused this reaction, it was anger. He felt himself bottling rage within him, tightening his controls further and further to keep it from surfacing. He knew the more Sovik spoke of such matter the faster he was going to lose himself.

“Spock,” Sovik continued as if he did not hear him. “Would you like to know what I saw during your Ahm Gad?”

No, was the short answer, but a long and pregnant pause substituted his answer.

“An infant,” Sovik answered finally, his eyes warming over Spock’s features once again.

Another silent pause lingered between them.

If Spock was capable of emotions such as shock, he would have allowed his mouth to hang, slightly agape in bewilderment. He had not expected Sovik to respond in such a way. It left him quite impressed.

What was possibly more shocking than Sovik’s answer, was the fact that Sovik had said what his mother had often told him. ‘Spock, your father and I wish for you to pick the Vulcan way, but you do have a choice between human and Vulcan. But, I remind you Spock, that either way you will always be my son.’

A faint green blush spread across Spock’s face, burning his ears. Thankfully, it hadn’t been as obvious as Spock had felt since Sovik stood stoically across from him with a comforting look on his face. It was not as comforting as Jim’s expression, but he still found the look of acceptance to be appropriate.

“An infant with a testing future ahead of him,” Sovik pressed on again. He didn’t move a muscle. “Yet, you were a child with great potential, just as every other being.”

Spock, pursed his lips together uncomfortably. Though Sovik’s words were comforting and appreciated, Spock still could not deny that he wished for this conversation to end. Part of him was relieved that Sovik had said what he did, and yet part of Spock was unreasonably distressed.

“I thank thee for your kind words, Sir,” Spock thanked finally, his head turning back towards the large box on the table. This time, as he peered inside, he made a conscious effort not to breathe through his nose.

Sovik was at his side within seconds, opening the box up confidently and pulling out a clear container filled with a mushy substance, followed by another with the dust that Spock had reacted harshly towards.

“This is Renneral,” Sovik pointed out as he pulled out the last container. Inside, Spock could see a rubble-like substance in a similar black tone as the other materials. “We have boarded the substance in its many forms.”

Spock watched as Sovik popped the lids off all the different containers, releasing tiny dust particles from one of the Renneral containers. Spock again refrained from breathing for a moment.

“Is it not destructive to the substance if it is exposed to the Enterprises’ atmosphere?” Spock questioned, as he placed his fingers around the base of one of the containers. His eyes traveled to Sovik’s experienced hands. They were in rough condition, as was many scientists working in conditions such as the RU-598 group. He had a tremendous respect for individuals who found the prospect of discovery and science so appealing that they submerged themselves entirely in their field. One would have to be like that to join the RU-598 group.

“It is not,” Sovik explained kindly, his fingers gently entering the container to feel the dusty material. “We have exposed it to various extreme conditions, and none seem to have any harmful effects on the material.”

Sovik’s eyes peered over at Spock who was completely enthralled by the Renneral. A small smile wrinkled over his face.

“Stronos is a deceptive planet,” Sovik lifted his fingers, his eyes going back to his own hand just as Spock’s gaze began to trail up towards his. Slowly, he rolled his fingers together, testing the dust between his skin. Spock watched with curious eyes.

“How so?” Spock asked in a scientific tone.

As the science officer of the Enterprise, Spock was deeply fascinated by the RU-598 project. He wanted to touch everything inside each of the containers, to feel the texture, the weight, and the consistency of this newly discovered material. However, there had been far too many instances in which Spock had acted out of scientific curiosity, and in doing so had gotten into trouble.

“Nothing on Stronos is as it appears.” Sovik’s words were hollow, cold, and unforgiving. Spock turned to acknowledge Sovik head on, but before he could open his mouth to question the nature of his response, Sovik continued, “Spock, do not hesitate in feeling the Renneral. Though you may presume a rough sand texture, you may be surprised.”

Regardless of Sovik’s words, Spock hesitated for a moment, looking down at the substance with uncertainty.

“I have been working with the Renneral material for four point five Terran years,” Sovik explained as he then dusted his hands off together.

Spock poked the end of his long and slender finger down into the substance, moving it around slightly before he removed it, curiously looking over his finger for any ill effects. There was none that he could discern, which prompted Spock to enter another one of his fingers into the substance.

Just as Sovik was doing next to him, Spock also began rolling the dust between his fingers, mentally logging all his observations for later. He was fascinated by the capability of the mouldable substance that was now coating his hand. This substance was more powerful than the dilithium crystals that were powering the very ship they were riding in.

“Remarkably smooth,” Spock noted. “Consistent.”

“Indeed.” Sovik nodded, nearing Spock once again as he peered over his shoulder at his now dirtied hands. He hovered over him sneakily without laying a hand on Spock, controlling his breath as to not disturb the half-Vulcan.

“As you have previously stated, the initial assumption of this material is to be rough, rocky, and discomforting,” Spock began and he gazed upon the black, silky Renneral covering his fingers.

“There are many things on Stronos that are not as they appear. Take the fo-weinvaksur for instance,” Sovik motioned towards the plant in the corner.

Just as Sovik began his monologue of Renneral’s properties, he felt a strange pressure against his hand. It was as if someone had been flattening Spock’s hand against a table with brutal force. Suddenly, the pressure grew into a searing pain across his palm. It felt like the cut on his hand was slowly ripping open again, exposing the bone to the chilly air.

Illogically, Spock looked down at his injury, just to prove to himself that he was not able to see the bone of his hand through his cut. He was shocked when he saw dark emerald green skin surrounding the abrasion. It had somehow swollen significantly.

“Spock?” Sovik asked in genuine concern, moving from his alluring stance next to him, to a more confrontational distance to assess the situation.

In an attempt to alleviate the pain, Spock furiously began patting his hand against his pants, then rubbing it and finding it made no difference. His hand ached immeasurably against his sensitive cut, which had already been relatively sore for the past few days.

“You are in pain?” Sovik questioned, trying to see Spock’s hand, which was no doubt the source of the unpleasant sensation. “It could not be the Renneral,” he insisted, nearing Spock once again.

Spock closed his eyes as he fought the pain from within. As Spock began working internally to relieve the extreme discomfort, he felt a peculiar movement in his body, as the sensation worked its way up his arm and enveloped his body in a throbbing pain. Gently, Spock placed a finger over his temple, willing the pain away. Pain is something of the mind. There is no pain.

“No,” Spock finally answered, straightening himself out and breathing evenly. His eyes remained closed, his finger still pressed against the side of his head. He could feel his shields strengthening against the pain; he motivated his blood cells to see to the source of the pain on his palm.

Once he had finally calmed his response to the ache, Spock gently looked at his hand again, and thoughtfully brushed the ends of his fingers along the cut. It had swollen from the contact with the Renneral, and was exuding a clear yellow discharge. He raised an eyebrow strangely.

The yellow liquid was not what raised the concern in Spock; it had been the size that the cut had swollen into. He could see the skin around the green slit bulging. It was tender and painful when Spock’s fingers made contact against it.

Sovik reached a hand outwards slightly, as if Spock were going to fall towards him. Thankfully, it had not come to that.

“I am unharmed,” Spock admitted, feeling that to be an accurate description of his current condition. He blew a breath against his palm to alleviate the burning sensation which had now taken over. “I should not have handled the Renneral material as I have recently wounded my hand.”

The discomfort from touching the Renneral was much more agonizing than when Spock had cut his hand the first time. This pain had travelled abnormally through his entire being.

Vulcans had extremely sensitive nerves scattered across their hands. Like the sensitivity of human ears, neck, and genitalia, their hands roused in similar ways. While they served many functions, one of the most dominant ones was for sensing the world around them, and initiating pleasure. When these pleasure centers became damaged, or harmed, they grow even more sensitive.

Spock tried to reason that this was the cause for his reaction to the Renneral. His already-sensitive hands must have just become defenseless against the newly discovered substance. Since Spock was in desperate need of meditation, it made him all the more vulnerable.

Without warning, Sovik aggressively took Spock’s hand into his own, petting the palm roughly where the cut resided. Spock hissed in pain, his vulnerable senses spiking from the forced touch. Beyond the searing pain on the surface of his skin, he felt a slight transfer of Sovik’s emotions. However, they were so brash and complex when intermingling with his agony that he could not differentiate them.

“There are small traces of sulfuric elements in the Renneral which might have caused the discomfort,” Sovik explained, with a hint of dread. “I apologize, Spock. If I had known the condition you were in, I would not have suggested such an activity.”

Spock immediately snaked his hand out from Sovik’s grasp. There was something extremely offensive about Sovik placing his fingers on his hands. It was a difficult concept for humans to understand (as Jim had proven to Spock), but Vulcan hands were the equivalent to Terran lips. Hands were a reserved area for Vulcans. They reserved touching them unless bonded or trying to initiate a meld of some sort. It was one of the many reasons Vulcans greeted one another in the traditional salute.

Jim had found the concept intriguing when he had told him. Spock knew Jim was normally a very accepting and well-adjusting character, but he had a hard time understanding that when he had accidently pulled Spock down the hall by his hand, he was doing the equivalent of pressing him up against the nearest wall and ravishing him. And though he didn’t find the interaction offensive coming from Jim, Spock found it strange coming from Sovik.  

Spock cradled his hand in towards himself, his eyes looking over Sovik with concern. He drew the palm near his tunic, feeling it throb against the material. He tried not to allow Sovik’s actions to offend him. Spock had behaved irrationally towards the pain, and Sovik was most likely not wishing to violate Vulcan decency. He was merely showing his concern for Spock’s safety.

“I am the only one to blame for this misfortune,” Spock informed calmly. “I thank thee for showing me the RU-598 project. I find it fascinating. If you ever require assistance, do not hesitate.” Spock felt a strange urgency to leave the lab. He felt his heart pounding in his side in rhythm with the throbbing of his hand.

“Spock, allow me to…” Sovik began, stepping closer to Spock, his hand extended to retrieve Spock’s.

“I do appreciate your actions, but I must decline,” Spock insisted as he took a step backwards placing both hands behind his back. “I must meditate so that I may heal.” He bowed his head towards the older Vulcan.

All Sovik could manage to respond was with a nod. He did not attempt to approach the younger Vulcan again as he also anchored his hands behind his back.

After exchanging goodbyes, Spock left the lab, moving quickly into the hall. His hand was thankfully no longer stinging, but throbbing lightly. The pain had relocated, and it caught Spock slightly off guard. As he hurried through the hall, he found himself halting for a moment, his hand firmly pressed against one of the walls. All Spock could feel was an intense pain crashing against his mental shields.

Bump bump, bump bump.

Slowly Spock’s eyes slid shut. His right finger met with his temple as he sank deeper within his mind to soothe the pounding pain that resided deep within it. It was almost as if he could see the brutal actions behind his eyes. Like a million nails were scraping across the inside of his skull. A forced whimper escaped Spock’s lips.

Pain is something of the mind.

Spock nurtured his strengths and erected an inner wall to combat the sudden impact of suffering within his head. Though Spock had his share of migraines in his time (usually from a lack of meditation), Spock had never experienced one this bad. Normally when he experienced one, he would simply close his eyes for a brief moment, focus on his breathing, center himself, and then return to his quarters to meditate. However, this was different.

When Spock could finally straighten himself out, successfully shielding a great deal of the deliberating sensation from his mind, he scanned the hall around him for any passing ensigns. Thankfully, nobody had been walking at that particular time to witness Spock in such a state of distress. He simply straightened his tunic out and proceeded to take action.

There was only one thing Spock wanted more than anything in the entire universe. Logically, he should have been racing to his quarters in order to begin his meditation, or to brew himself a calming cup of Vulcan spiced tea, but there was something that surpassed the logic of that.

As soon as Spock saw the opening to the lift, he slipped inside, acknowledging Uhura with a nod as she engaged the lift to head to the bridge. She was peering up at the Vulcan with her beautiful, brown eyes.

“Commander, how are the RU-598 group adjusting to the labs?” Uhura questioned, her smile still as genuine and strong as it had been from the moment Spock had entered.

“Adequately Lieutenant,” Spock answered, his mind still partially focussed on bearing his inner shields. He promised himself quietly that he would be in his quarters meditating shortly.

Uhura’s sweet conversation was somewhat blurred from Spock’s mind as he repeated his philosophy to himself, pain is something of the mind, pain is something of the mind.

Finally, the doors opened, and Spock gave Uhura a polite nod before emerging onto the bridge. It was not necessarily a quiet, calm, or peaceful environment to be in, especially with a migraine as big as Spock’s; but he still found it the most pleasant area on the ship to be in at the moment.

There was a faint beeping coming from the machines around the room, and Spock could hear the conversation between the yeoman and one of the security officers above all other noise. It didn’t take Vulcan ears to understand that she hadn’t been using her inside voice. Had Spock been in perfect working condition, he would have told her to be conscious of her volume. But, he was not in perfect working condition.

The room could have been on fire and it would not have diverted Spock’s attention. In the center of the room, he could see the back of his captain’s head as it was turned down towards his lap. Spock felt the illogical warmth coat his body, intensifying the closer he got to Jim’s side.

The pain hadn’t left. It was still trying desperately to break through his walls. However, when Jim’s eyes acknowledged him by looking up at him, Spock felt his shields strengthen. He could physically feel the barrier he created to keep the abnormal pain out, rejuvenate and harden.

Spock neared his captain’s side, inching in toward the arm of the chair. If there had been one feeling that Spock was capable of experiencing at that moment, it would have been contentment. There was an overwhelming comfort when he neared his captain. He felt as if the heavy burden of his shields were being shared between the both of them.

Jim silently placed his elbow against the armrest that Spock was closest to. He could see the PADD in his captain’s lap, and the way that Jim dutifully continued his work, even with his presence. Spock appreciated the undying dedication within the man. The warmth Spock was feeling increased.

There was no questions regarding the RU-598 group. In fact, Jim said nothing. He simply tilted his head in Spock’s direction, and slowly began to ease into a smile. His hands still working busily on the PADD.

Spock would meditate shortly. For now, he soaked up the pleasantry of his captain’s presence. No, even better. Spock soaked up the comfort, appreciation, and pleasantry of his friend… his Jim. Standing by his side like that made Spock believe for a moment that he could stay by Jim’s side forever. It was illogical, it was emotional, and it was flawed. Still, Spock pressed his fingers into the back of Jim’s chair, his other hand resting on the armrest where Jim’s elbow was sitting.

He had never felt this way about another person, and needless to say a human. He had at one time been bonded to T’Pring, but it had been clear from the beginning that there was no genuine connection between them. He had been so young, and with his being in space and her remaining on Vulcan, their link naturally weakened.

Never had Spock felt the need to touch another. As he stood next to Jim’s side, however, he felt the overwhelming desire to stroke his fingers against his broad and powerful shoulders. He wanted to feel his yellow command shirt beneath his digits. The man was such an important part of the Enterprise, and a natural born leader. Spock felt a moment of pride for having Jim as such a dear friend of his.

Without consciously doing so, Spock lifted his hand and gently touched the edge of the gold shirt, feeling the warmth of Jim’s body seeping through the fabric. Spock inhaled excitedly. Jim didn’t feel Spock’s actions since they had been so faint; he simply continued his task at hand with his head still tilted in Spock’s direction.

“Captain,” Spock whispered, finally making his hand’s presence on his shoulder known. Rather than hanging onto the shirt, Spock firmly planted his fingers onto Jim’s shoulder.

Vulcan strength was no doubt superior to that of a human. If Spock wanted to, he could break Jim’s shoulder by simply squeezing hard enough. Though Spock could take on most of the men on this bridge at once, Spock still felt helpless under Jim. He never wanted to be the source of any type of discomfort in his captain. He was perfection. Christopher Pike had also been a wonderful captain, but there was something special about Jim. Captain Kirk. Spock felt warmth just by saying his name. Captain Kirk.

No. Spock could never hurt Jim, inside or out. In fact, he felt an urgency to guard him with his life. Nothing would ever hurt Jim-- not when Spock was around, and he planned to be by Jim’s side for years to come.

Jim’s eyes looked up to Spock, his lips in an honest and tender smile. Spock found it stimulating how Jim was able to make his eyes seem as though he were smiling. It might have possibly had something to do with the tiny wrinkles at the corners, which indicated years of laughter. He didn’t doubt that Jim had spent a good portion of his years laughing. Ever since he had met Jim, he had always managed to be in an uplifting mood. Though his emotionalism was beyond logic, it still granted Spock assurance.

That was another difference between Jim and Captain Pike. When Pike had left, Spock was unsure what the new captain would bring since he was so used to Pike’s presence on the bridge. Pike never made jokes or talked casually with the crew. In fact, Pike was a very secluded and private man, which Spock greatly admired.

When Jim had taken command, Spock was in a state of shock in the way that Jim was constantly laughing at the various stations on the bridge. He would hear him talking to yeomans, the Chief Medical Officer, the helmsman and so on, until he absolutely had to return to his work. Amazingly, Jim still managed to finish all his tasks, even with these long periods of interactions.

Now, Spock could not imagine the bridge without Jim. He couldn’t imagine who he would have been without meeting Jim Kirk. He would no doubt be scarcely different.

Spock could feel the way Jim inhaled from the feeling of his hand against his shoulder. He nearly leaned into the touch like a purring cat.

“Spock,” Jim finally whispered in return, signing off on the PADD in his lap. After he finished, he returned his eyes to Spock’s, his smile even wider now that he had no more work to divide his attention with.

It was almost stressful holding his hand back from running his fingers through Jim’s hair. It was illogical. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his captain this way, but he couldn’t deny the urgency to do so.

“Would you care to join me in a round of chess?” he asked. He could feel the bone of Jim’s shoulder blade under his fingers. Desperately, Spock twitched his fingers, wanting to move them down Jim’s back and then under the material to touch his skin. Just for a moment he wished to feel Jim’s human skin against his own. He wanted to feel Jim’s breathing.

There was no need to speak. Jim’s smile said it all. Jim turned his head, raising his PADD into the air for Yeoman Rand to take. Within seconds, Jim was out of his chair and walking towards the lift with Spock closely in tow.

The pain was persistent. It hadn’t extinguished by Jim’s company. That would be illogical. However, his company was not purposeless. With Jim near him, he felt a sense of peace. His mind was no longer cluttered with the strain of strengthening his shields. Instead, he was preoccupied with Jim.

He had to focus on their conversation, Jim’s body language, his smile. There was no time to concentrate on the pain. It was that, plus the fact that every time he was near Jim, he could feel an intoxicating warmth throughout his body-- like an unexpected high. Meditation would come later, but Jim was much more efficient than any form of mental relaxation.

-

 

Joseph was silly. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile eternally at the way his lips would curve at the one side. They became curiously lopsided and she loved it. She desperately hoped that one day she would bear his children and each one of them would have the same crooked grin as he did.

That, she believed, was her greatest purpose in life. She adored the aspect of combining her and her love together to create a unique individual, a brand-new human being. Her heart leaped furiously in her chest thinking about it. Cleaning, cooking and teaching their children. She wanted that life more than anything.

That wasn’t fully true. Yes, she believed she had been ready to be a parent for years now, but she had another calling. Her career and passion for science were almost just as intense as her love for Joseph. She had dedicated so much of herself to her studies and to the RU-598 project. When she met Sovik and his bondmate, T’Leia, she felt as if she had found a piece of herself she had been desperately searching for. After the unfortunate accident with T’Leia, she had found her second passion: leading. Since T’Leia was no longer there to lead with Sovik, she had been the one chosen to assist him.

Well, didn’t she sound like a bitch? Rebecca felt an agonizing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated to remember the incident, and she hated the thought that she had benefited off of anybody’s death. Still, those were the facts. T’Leia had died, and Rebecca had gained.

Aside from those bleak days, RU-598 was intensely fascinating. The nights were freezing and the mornings were unbearably hot, but she had found everything she wanted on the planet. She had found new vegetation and life forms of many kinds. Rebecca had invested so much into the project on that planet that it felt almost as if she had given birth on the surface-- birth to a concept that hadn’t been developed ever in human history. Fame, riches, and happiness was sure to follow.

She had found so much of herself there. Joseph had come a year into the mission. He was the expert on minerals, using his masters in mineralogy to assess the various different soils and stone structures. Maybe she had been stranded for too long, and maybe she had forgotten what it was like to love, but she had fallen for him the moment he stepped foot onto the dark black sands of Stronos. She had no idea that they would submit themselves to each other, under the moons of that foreign world.

Her memories were beginning to get the best of her, and so she decided it was probably the best idea to sit back and take a break. There was no need to strain herself to focus, especially when she was so far into her thoughts.

As she leaned back into her chair, she reached around her head to gather all the curly, frizzed strands of her hair and bundled it into a large bun on the back of her head.

The main room of the lab was empty. She knew that Alissa and Michael were busy in the dark room developing arctosis samples from Stronos. She hated that job the most. The arctosis was a form of the Renneral mixed with a colloid substance that evened out the structure of the Renneral, transforming it into a hard, crystalline object. She loved the end product, especially since Joseph said he wished he made her a ring out of it, but it was the process that was difficult. It was long, tedious and very temperamental.

Out from one of the side rooms Rebecca heard a loud, shattering crash. It sounded as if someone had hurdled a wine glass across the room. The sound was followed by a low, guttural moan which Rebecca remembered all too well. She felt goosebumps prickle across her arms, her heart racing in her chest. It was funny how her heart could race just as fast thinking about Joseph.

She cautiously stepped out of her chair, inching towards the room, but stopping every now and then to consider whether or not that was the best option. Should she possibly stay put, keep out of danger? Or should she face the threat?

The answer was most definitely to leave the room and pretend as if she hadn’t heard a thing at all, but Rebecca didn’t have the heart to do that. She knew exactly who had made the loud noise, and though she didn’t fully understand it, she knew enough to want to help.

She slowly approached the door, watching as the doors slid open to expose the room with all its lights out. She shivered at the thought. It was even clearer now that she should have fled. However, it was too late.

“Sovik?” Rebecca called out into the room, her voice shaking with worry and fear. She took a hasty step into the dark room, feeling cold as she did. The room was the same temperature as the rest of the lab, but there was something in the air that had caused her to waver uneasily.

There was a low moan increasing within the darkness. As the doors closed behind her, the light from the main room of the lab went out with it and she was now in complete darkness.

“Lights at…” Rebecca never got to finish, as she heard Sovik’s voice call out from the side of the room.

“Do not turn the lights on,” Sovik begged in a hissing tone. She could feel his anger even without the assistance of the light. “Leave.”

“Sovik,” Rebecca replied, her heart bouncing furiously. “I’m only going to turn them up a bit.”

There was no reply from the Vulcan. He sounded to be completely motionless which Rebecca appreciated. Taking advantage of his silence, she called for the lights to raise to thirty percent.

Sitting at the desk was Sovik, his eyes fixed on the tricorder in his hands. It did not take a second glance to realize that Sovik’s hands were shaking, clattering the strap of the device against it with every shake. She casted her hands downwards onto the white knuckles.

“Sovik, is it happening again?” she questioned, nearing him slightly, wishing that her hair were let free so that she could finger the curls in her nervousness. She felt as if her neck being exposed like it was, was dangerous.

There was no reply again as Rebecca paused across the desk, her eyes filled with tears. She knew that Sovik didn’t like it when she cried. They had been so close for such a long time, she knew it better than anyone how much Sovik detested tears. When T’Leia had died Sovik had told her that the tears she was shedding were of no use. There was no need to cry, and yet she couldn’t help herself. She wished she had the strength of a Vulcan.

“You can’t now,” she rasped out silently, trying to hide the building tears in her eyes. She couldn’t control the streams that were already half way down her cheek. However, Rebecca was strong. She was capable of not allowing her voice to falter too much.

Sovik’s muscles were incredibly rigid. She could see the growing frustration on his face as she neared him, bending over slightly to get a better look. It was almost as if she didn’t exist. His eyes remained fixed on the tricorder.

Since there would be no conversation between her and the Vulcan, she decided to search for what Sovik had destroyed in his fit of rage. She noticed right away, next to the shivering fo-weinvaksu, a broken beaker in a puddle of purple liquid. She prayed to herself that it was not one of the corrosive elements.

She wanted to roll her eyes at the immaturity of throwing objects when mad. Her father was really bad for it when she was growing up. He had broken nearly every plate in his and her mother’s wedding set. It was pleasing to know that her mother was strong enough to get her and her children out of that situation before anything escalated.

Rebecca turned to Sovik with both her brows knitted together in an angry formation. “What are you doing, Sovik?” she cried out angrily, her hands crossing over her chest. She was scared and angry all in one-- and wasn’t sure which side of her would win out.

“Leave,” Sovik demanded under his breath, finally looking up towards the woman.  

“No!” she screamed out, rushing over to the table and slamming both her fists onto the table. After doing so, she wished she hadn’t. Both of her wrists began to string from the impact of the table. However, the tingling wasn’t enough to divert her attention. “We put too much into this fucking project! You and T’Leia had put everything you believed in into this! You can’t go off and do this now!” Streams of tears fell onto the metal table, pooling into bunches next to Sovik’s hands.

Sovik snapped his hand up and around Rebecca’s wrist. His grip was firm and painful. If she moved a muscle, she was sure her wrist would snap. Either that or he would completely mangle the veins beneath her skin.

“Sovik, don’t,” she pleaded, her tears rushing faster down her cheeks. Her mouth hung open pleading mutely to have the Vulcan strength to let up.

“You will never speak of T’Leia,” Sovik growled, his hand going impossibly tighter around her wrist. Any more pressure would surely break her. “You know the consequences of disturbing me during this time!”

“Yes,” she whispered in complete agony. “Sovik, please let go of my wrist.”

The Vulcan did not. He pulled her closer to him, dragging her off her feet and lying on the table. “You will never speak of her, or I will break your insignificant bones.” He spoke through his teeth before tossing her off the table in a fluent motion.

Rebecca tumbled backwards onto the floor, her wrist purple from the lack of blood circulation. She tried to hold back her whimper but failed miserably when she heard the groaning coming from the full-grown Vulcan at the table.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, bringing herself off the floor in a mess. She looked up at her dark-haired mentor, wanting so badly to take this brilliant person into her arms and cradle him… to tell him it wasn’t his fault, and that she still respected him even in such a monstrous state.

It wasn’t a lie. It was difficult to put her feelings for Sovik into words. It wasn’t the type of love she had for her fiancé, but it was a special love-- the kind a daughter would have for her father. Sovik was like the dad she never got to know, and when he was rampant like this, it reminded her even more of her father. Just like him, they both could not control their actions. Her dad had been lost in the bottle while Sovik was … whatever this was.

There were times when she felt sorry for her father, sorry that he was dead somewhere in an alley probably. She was sorry that he had lost control of himself, his life, and eventually lost his family. The anger she had for him was unfathomable, since his actions had left her without a father, without the financial and moral support every young girl deserved, but she still felt sorry. Sovik was no exception.

“Can I help you, Sovik?” she asked softly, trying to change her approach for her own safety. “I could get the CMO, or call Captain Kirk?”

“No!” Sovik yelled, ripping the strap off of the tricorder effortlessly. He began pulling the leather strap apart in his hands, growling and snarling furiously in his frustration.

“You need help, Sovik!” she cried harder than she had this entire time, her throat raw and sore from her yelling.

“You know better than anyone on this ship why we cannot tell them of this!” Sovik threw the bits and pieces of the fabric onto the floor. His eyes roamed over the tricorder, admiring the spots where Spock’s fingers had held onto it and handled it. He could feel a growing hardness in his pants.

“I will handle myself, Rebecca,” Sovik sighed, still speaking through his teeth. Still he sounded much more relaxed than he had when yelling moments ago. She was thankful for that.

“This will come and pass. I am sure of it.” His fingers curled around the device in his hands, a smile almost present on his face. His brutal strength was absent as he petted the edges caringly, twisting the dials across it occasionally as he remembered the way Spock had looked holding it. The hardness in his pants increased.

He knew he could take care of this. As it was right now, the only thing that stood between him and his Vulcan was a stubbornly smitten captain.

-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Sovik is coming across well, as well as Rebecca. I've never been good at OC's.. but I need these ones so it was unavoidable. Obviously Jim and Spock will be the main focus to the story!!! :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, the next one will be coming in another week or so when my last 3 exams are done!!! <3 Let me know what you think and if you're liking it so far!!
> 
> LLAP


	6. It Will Always Be You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoy this chapter... warnings include some (lots) Sexual content
> 
> Thank you so much to the beloved readers!!! you all rock and make this story awesome. And of course to Plaidshirtjimkirk for betaing... saves this story every chapter at a time!!

**It Will Always Be You**

 

“Your logic during that round was quite effective, Captain,” Spock articulated with impeccable professionalism. Without even receiving any indication of Jim’s interest in another round, he began to set the board up once again. Jim watched as Spock placed the pieces in their exact positions-- directly in the middle of their squares, and each of them facing the appropriate direction-- and raised his eyebrows humorously.

“You’re really in the mood for chess,” Jim pointed out and he let out a long, but quiet yawn. He peered around the rec room for a moment, looking at a near by card game happening a couple tables down. As Spock continued to set the board up, Jim eventually leaned back into his chair and watched as he completed the tedious task. There were times when Jim believed Spock actually enjoyed the work of putting them all in their designated spots. It wasn’t a job he really liked to do, so he gladly allowed for Spock to do it.

Spock inclined his head towards Jim and then shot up a brow, “You do not wish to play again?” his tone was a cross between heartbroken and shame. Jim hated the idea that he made Spock feel that way, even if it was for a second.

“No,” Jim laughed, “It means you are really in the mood to play chess. I never said I didn’t want to.” Jim smiled as Spock placed the last knight down on Jim’s side.

The closeness of Spock’s hand gave Jim the advantage of seeing those handsome fingers. He loved the sight of them, the way they were smooth, graceful, and yet contained the power to render a man completely unconscious with a simple pinch. Those fingers had such capabilities, yet here Spock was, begging him to play another round of chess.

That was something Jim adored about Spock. Vulcans, coming from a merciless race of violence, turned into a lot of peace-loving people who had managed to put logic above war. It always fascinated Jim that Spock was so serene, peaceful, and never promoting violence. Yet there had been episodes when Spock had dropped his shields and nearly tore the crew apart. There was the time Spock had escaped from sickbay, completely mad with a virus from Deneva. Spock took on over six men on his own.

Of course, there was another example of Spock’s insanity when the entire ship had to change their course from Altair VIto Vulcan so that Spock could deal with his Pon Farr and bond with T’Pring. Jim had never been so afraid of Spock yet still so worried for him as well. If it hadn’t been for McCoy, Spock would have easily killed him, and the thought made Jim shiver sometimes he thought about what could have happened.

It wasn’t Spock’s fault however, and Jim knew that Spock had nearly drowned himself in a pit of self-loathing. Spock had truly thought he had killed him and wanted to send himself to the authorities for prosecution. Later after Jim had told Spock that he was alright, Spock and Jim spent the entire afternoon together in Jim’s quarters playing chess just as they were doing now. It always worked for them as a source of comfort, as a way to forget about the world and focus on one with just the two of them.

Spock finally began talking again which brought Jim out of the intense thought of Spock’s superior strength. “Jim, it is your turn.”

Jim only nodded as he looked around the board, retrieving one of the pieces he had his eyes on since the moment Spock had placed it.

He had already outlined a great deal of his strategy during Spock’s gracious set up. Though Jim never was one to plan everything out before the game, he did like to have a main course of action. Spontaneity could be just as effective as forethought, and Jim believed that was the advantage he had over Spock in the game. He imagined that Spock’s strategy was one of logic (and very brilliant logic, at that); however, he lacked the ability to take risks. He never decided on a move in hope that it would bring on another logical move in the future. No. Spock most likely had the entire game planned out in his head before he even picked up the first piece.

“I think the only reason you want to play again is you’re hoping that you’re going to win again,” Jim laughed as he sipped the warm cup of coffee at his side and watched those beautiful fingers at work again.

“I do not hope for anything, Captain,” Spock replied,playfully cold. “I do, however, believe that you are reluctant to play another round due to the fact that you fear my strategy of logic will overcome your strategy of instinct.”

Jim let out a soft chuckle. Anybody who told him that Vulcans didn’t have a sense of humor could not be more wrong. There were only so many people aboard the Enterprise who could make him genuinely laugh hard, and Spock was among the top of them. There was something so keen about his wit and Jim found that it meshed perfectly with his own; it conflicted with McCoy’s perfectly. The thought of McCoy and Spock verbally going at it brought a smile to Jim’s lips.

“An extreme display of self-esteem, Commander. I didn’t know you had it in you,” he smiled as he bit his lip.

Spock raised his brow in the famous look of disapproval. Jim would never get tired of that expression. He wished he could frame it above a fireplace somewhere. It was looks like that that made Jim believe that looks could actually kill. He felt weak in the knees whenever he saw Spock looking at him like he was crazy.

They continued their game for some time before Jim decided to speak again, “So, how was your day in the labs with Sovik?”

Spock’s finger tensed over one of the pieces as he recalled the foolish mistake he had made earlier with the Renneral. He had caused himself a lot of distress from handling the unknown substance with an open wound. There was no logic to make that acceptable.

Fearing that explaining the entirety of the story would bring unnecessary worry to the human, Spock decided to leave that part out. There was no logical reason to inform Jim of his mistakes-- that was why they remained in the past. There was no benefit from telling his superior officer that he was capable of making extremely unwise and thoughtless decisions like that.

“The RU-598 group is extremely fascinating, Captain,” Spock started speaking in his regular tone once again. He, straightened his back uncomfortably in his chair, trying to appear as professional and proficient as possible.

“Is that so?” Jim moved his bishop 3 down to one of the middle levels on the board, directly across from Spock’s knight. A small, wicked smile appeared on Jim’s face, trying to challenge Spock.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, calmly removing his knight from the game as Jim had just taken it. He then moved one of his bishops to the top. “The Renneral material is quite interesting as well. Sovik exposed three different conditions in which it naturally occurs in.”

“I see,” Jim nodded slowly, feeling uncomfortable with such genuine compliments to Sovik’s group. It was wrong for Jim to feel that way since not everybody on the research team was as horrible as Sovik, and yet Jim somewhat detested them all. He didn’t want Spock in the labs with them like he had been, because he just didn’t feel comfortable with it. Yet, what could Jim say? ‘Spock don’t go with Sovik, I have a bad feeling about him.”no, that wouldn’t do at all because Jim could already hear Spock reply with, ‘A feeling Jim? You would like me not to fulfill my scientific duties in the lab because you have a bad feeling about one of the scientists?’

Spock would no doubt question this feeling. He would make Jim explain what he couldn’t really put into words. The way Sovik looked at Spock made him feel angry and worried, like Sovik was somehow going to take Spock out of his life. How could Jim put those feelings into terms that Spock would understand?

“Spock,” Jim sighed, moving one of the pieces slowly to another level. “How do you feel about Sovik?” He questioned with exasperation. He couldn’t believe he was risking this conversation with Spock. How could he be so brave?

There was a look of uncertainty over Spock’s face, but his eyes never left the chess game in front of him, “I do not understand the question.”

Jim rolled his eyes. ‘Duh,’ he thought to himself. “I meant what do you think of him?” Jim asked again, completely ignoring the board Spock’s attention was fixed on.

“He is mentally stimulating and an extremely intelligent Vulcan,” Spock explained, looking up at Jim, “However, that is expected of all Vulcans.”

It was hard not to laugh at Spock when he talked like that. The way he would speak so highly of Vulcan and his race, while simultaneously declaring humans as illogical beings. It always made Jim laugh because he knew that Spock didn’t feel that way in all actuality. In fact, Jim was almost one hundred percent positive Spock didn’t have any Vulcan friends, but he had many human friends. He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t humans Spock detested so badly, but his human half. Maybe that’s why he spoke this way, to some how make others forget it was there… or maybe even to help himself forget.

He never liked to think of Spock in such a vulnerable state of mind. Spock was always so strong, so courageous and brave. He never gave up because of his blood, and Jim felt confident in that. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder at times if Spock was truly that strong on the inside when it came to the two warring species that lived within him.

“I know,” Jim finally answered, his smile completely gone. “Do you feel, strange about him at all?” Jim had almost forgotten the game they were playing until Spock motioned him to continue.

“Jim, I believe I have already informed you that I am incapable of feelings. Therefore, it would be illogical for you to inquire how I feel about a person whom I have already expressed my professional opinion on,” Spock explained, as he began to feel the throbbing ache in his head once again. Perhaps this would be their final game for the night. He had put this meditation off for too long, and this was most likely a sign for him to return to his quarters and relax the pain away. However, he watched Jim’s hand move from his white piece, and then Spock took his own bishop and moved it across the board.

“Alright, I’m just going to say it,” Jim grumbled, as he ran a hand through his hair somewhat nervously.

“Please,” Spock encouraged as he removed his hand from the board and placed it in his lap with his other one that was injured. “I suggest you do so at the beginning next time, as it would save us a lot of time.”

Jim closed his eyes and rolled them. He knew that it was also one of Spock’s goals to aggravate him. It was always a back and forth with them; who could prove the other wrong, or who could have the best comeback, and so on. Jim smiled slightly before he opened his eyes. “I don’t like Sovik.”

Spock nodded, as his head began to pound painfully in his head. “I see.” The throbbing in his head matched the throbs in his palm where his cut was now puffy and swollen. Jim continued, even as Spock’s head was turned down towards his lap.

“I mean he’s been pretty rude to me, especially considering I’m the captain,” Jim mumbled slightly towards the end as he could feel himself getting annoyed with Sovik once again. He had to remind himself that he was in Spock’s presence and that everything would be ok. They were both grown men and capable of watching over themselves.

“He has displayed a dislike towards you. May I enquire as to what you did to upset him?” Spock asked with genuine curiosity. He listed his head and returned his focus to the board and moved one of his pawns eagerly.

“Nothing! That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Spock.” Jim leaned into the table, trying to divert Spock’s attention from the board and back onto him. “He just doesn’t like me.”

Spock shook his head gently, “Jim I do not see the logic in disliking another with no provocation. Sovik is a logical Vulcan, I do not see the likelihood of him…” Spock began to explain before Jim cut him off.

“Spock,” Jim emphasised, his tone harsh and serious. “Ever since he stepped foot onto this ship, he’s hated me. And don’t use the fact that he’s a Vulcan to dismiss it. I haven’t said anything to him to make him act like this. Just ask McCoy.”

It took a moment for Spock to let that sink in. After a time of sitting and thinking, he finally replied, “Perhaps there is something bothering him that you are not aware of.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s just a difficult Vulcan, Spock,” Jim explained, finally moving one of his own pieces. “I mean, he doesn’t hate everybody. Especially not you.” He tried to bring it up casually, feeling his stomach eat his heart. He hated thinking about Sovik’s eyes on his first officer. Even if it wasn’t happening at the moment, he could still remember the way Sovik had looked at him.

The seemingly casual topic did not go over as casually as Jim had imagined, “Explain.” Spock’s brows were lowered in an unconvinced expression.

“Come on, Spock,” Jim laughed. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? I mean it looks like he’s practically undressing you with his…” Jim paused, and watched the way Spock’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened into an adorable green blush.

That was inappropriate. ‘Damnit!’ Jim chastised himself. This was exactly what he didn’t want to do. He was better off avoiding this conversation all together.

“I’m sorry, Spock,” Jim sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands exhaustedly. “That was inappropriate.”

Spock moved one of his own pieces. “At any rate, I would disagree with you,” he continued, ignoring the apology either to avoid the topic, or because he did not see an apology necessary. Jim hoped it was the second one.

“Well, the bottom line is, McCoy and I noticed it as soon as he came on the bridge. He’s constantly staring at you, Spock.” Jim tried to grab Spock’s attention once again.

“And?” Spock questioned, finally looking straight back at him with his typically emotionless expression.

“And what?” Jim repeated back to Spock with an inquisitive look on his face. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It seems to bother you a great deal, Jim,” Spock explained, not even bothering to inform him that he was incapable of feeling bothered. He could tell Jim already knew that.

Jim blushed a deep pink. He could feel Spock’s concern and he reveled in it proudly. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I don’t know,” Jim mumbled, running his fingers through his short strands of hair nervously again. He consciously became aware of his repetitive motions just as Spock began to notice them. Jim retracted his hand. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he mumbled softly towards Spock as he leaned forward towards him.

Spock nodded slowly. “I understand, Jim,” he replied with an equal softness. He then moved his piece onto the same square as Jim’s king. “Checkmate.”

For a moment, Jim had no idea what Spock was talking about, until he remembered the game they had been playing. He started to laugh at the way Spock’s lips twitched, wanting to pull the man over the table and kiss him… to undress him and taste his entire body.

The image of Spock in the shower came to Jim’s mind as he remembered the way Spock had looked under the running showerhead. His breath hitched slightly as he recalled his fantasy, and the way it had effortlessly brought him to climax. It was incredible to realize that Spock actually hadn’t given him the most incredible blow job ever--that he wasn’t in the shower at all. It was the image of Spock that had taken him to cloud nine.

Spock had such a power over him and he didn’t even realize it.

“Satisfied?” Jim laughed lightly.

“Quite, Captain,” Spock replied as he forced the twitching at the corner of his mouth to cease. He had gotten very good at that over the years, but it was always so difficult to wave the control in the captain’s presence.

Just as Jim began to feel comfortable, the doors to the rec room opened and there was a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway. Even though Jim was turned away from the door, he could still feel that it was Sovik who had entered. He bit his lip, as he turned to face the older Vulcan.

“Spock,” Sovik called out, stepping deeper into the room. He looked well put together and organized as he usually did, but he still seemed rather off. Jim lowered his eyebrows angrily. He had only said one word and Jim was already in a position to wring that thick Vulcan neck in his hands.

“Can I help you?” Jim asked, trying his hardest not to allow his emotions get the best of him in such a public place. He was the Captain, damn it, and he wasn’t going to show his crew that he couldn’t handle this Vulcan coming in and taking his first officer away from him. They wouldn’t understand. He shouldn’t have been mad, but he was. They just wouldn’t understand that.

Sovik looked briefly towards Jim before disregarding him and looking back towards Spock with a welcoming look in his eyes.

“Commander Spock,” Sovik started again, speaking in a deep and hauntingly clear voice. “The Renneral has reacted with one of the alclaic substances. I would like to have you come in and analyze it with one of your tricorders. It is remarkable, Commander. I believe you will find it fascinating.”

Jim could feel the attraction Sovik had for Spock. It was obvious. What had started out as just lengthy amounts of time staring at him had turned into exactly what Jim had tried to tell Spock earlier. Sovik was practically undressing Spock with his eyes. He could see the way Sovik looked at his entire body when he spoke, and it made him want to toss Sovik out one of the nearest airlocks and let him freeze in space.

“Great!” Jim smiled, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Why don’t we all head over there?”

Sovik shook his head, his eyes cold and heavy on Jim. “I would prefer not to. I am asking Commander Spock since he has scientific training with a tricorder, Captain.” He nearly rolled his eyes when he spoke.

Spock was small between the two men, which was perfectly fine, considering that he had no desire to argue with either. He could feel the headache he had momentarily willed away easing back to life. He didn’t want Jim to feel as though he had to argue with Sovik for him. He would easily take control of the conversation, if his head wasn’t throbbing so much from the insults they were both spewing.

“Jim, I will go with Sovik,” Spock answered, lifting his finger to his temple for a moment to center himself. “I will help our guest and then report to my quarters immediately after.”

Jim looked around the room at all the crew members sitting uncomfortably, looking up at the three men warily. After gathering the general consensus, Jim turned back towards Sovik and lowered his brows slightly and then, nodded at them. “Alright then.”

Sovik was already walking away from Jim, giving him no more his attention. He strode off into the hall while Spock followed him. Jim wanted to reach out for Spock and pull him back by the hand, then kiss him on the lips lovingly to remind him that he was his and he wanted him to be safe. He wished he could do that, even just to show Sovik that Spock was his, despite the fact that he had never confessed these feelings to Spock yet. But it was too late. Spock and Sovik were already out the door.

Jim slumped down into his chair, pulling his now cold coffee toward him. There was nothing Jim hated more than cold coffee. He pushed the cup further down the table, and looked at the chess pieces scattered across their board. He lifted one of them into his hands and turned it slowly so that he could see every angle of the white piece. As he turned it, could see the engraved S&J on the bottom and it made Jim smirk.

Spock was smart---smart and classy. Spock had admitted himself that Sovik was acting strangely towards Jim and if Spock had seen this hatred, then it must have been very very obvious.

Jim was tired of wondering why Sovik hated him so much. He didn’t want to hate the Vulcan anymore, but at the same time, he didn’t want to pretend like the ogling at his first officer wasn’t bothering him. It troubled him more than anything in the entire universe, and Jim was fed up with it. He wished Sovik could be normal and just behave himself for the sake of his and Spock’s relationship.

Was it because Sovik wanted Spock? Did Sovik want an intimate relationship with the Vulcan? If so, that was incredible. Jim had always thought that Vulcans didn’t do that sort of thing.

There had been a time when Jim had questioned homosexuality among them, seeing as reproduction would be impossible unless there was assistance with a medical team. It was that, as well as the fact that they didn’t even choose their own mates. Most of them were bonded as children. That brought Jim to wondering, where was Sovik’s bondmate? Sure, Spock didn’t have a bondmate either, but that situation was different. T’Pring was a stuck up bitch who defied the rules of logic for her own selfish needs. She didn’t want to marry Spock because she loved Stonn, but more than that was she didn’t want the reputation of marrying the half-breed. It boiled Jim’s blood.

Perhaps there was something like that within Sovik. Clearly not all Vulcans were as innocent and peaceful as Spock was. There appeared to be more emotion running through Vulcan blood than they believed. Sarek had, after all married and reproduced with a human woman, did she not? What would be the cause for something like that if it wasn’t emotional? Was Sovik stripping his first officer down with his eyes as some sick, perverted way to channel his Vulcan emotions?

Jim didn’t know the answer, and it frustrated him. He wanted to shove Sovik onto the ground, yet he didn’t even know to what extent Sovik’s feelings were for the Spock yet. Was it something sexual or was it something violent? It was frustrating for him to struggle with these aggressive feelings while Spock waws entirely unaffected by them, even though he was at the center of them all. That was one advantage Spock had over him.

Not wanting to give his actions much thought, in case he tried to change his mind, Jim left the rec room and headed for the lift in a hurry. Once the doors split, he ran into Uhura and Scotty, both of them laughing wildly until Jim entered.Their voices immediately lowered to a more acceptable level.

“Captain,” Uhura greeted with a smile. Scotty did the same.

“Where are you two off to?” Jim asked, forcing a smile onto his face. His mind was still currently reeling about the only two Vulcans on the ship.

Scotty peered over at Uhura with a faint look of affection and then returned to the captain with a casual look, “Oh, me and the lass were going to go have some dinner,” Scotty explained, putting both of his hands behind his back.

Jim smirked at them with a knowing look. “Well, we passed the mess hall…” he trailed off smiling.

“Oh,” Uhura smirked, her eyes meeting with Scotty’s again. “We were going to have it in the engineering room…”

The lift finally halted on Jim’s floor and he turned back towards them before leaving. “Sounds romantic. Stay out of trouble.” He could faintly hear Scotty saying ‘aye sir’ before the doors closed, but Jim’s focus was on the end of the hall where the lab was. He narrowed his eyes and began walk toward it.

As Jim entered, he could see a group of RU-598 researchers sitting around a table, hunched over a small dish. There was such immense concentration among the small group, he decided not to bother them by asking where Sovik was.

Perhaps he and Spock weren’t here. That was something Jim didn’t even want to consider. If they weren’t, then that means Sovik had lied to Jim, which could only mean one other thing… Sovik had planned something horrible for Spock and himself. Jim felt his stomach eating away at his heart again. He didn’t even want to consider what Sovik was doing to Spock.

Then, there was a slight bang through a door Jim hadn’t even realized was on his left. He turned towards the door and headed in cautiously. As he entered, he saw Spock standing at one of the tables, looking through a scanner and studying something. Sovik was across the table sifting through samples of Renneral and placing the right amounts onto a clear slab. Both Vulcans lifted their heads to look at Jim.

Spock gave Jim a warm and excited look, while still completely holding his composure. Jim noticed how dreadfully different Sovik’s reaction was. It wasn’t the way his eyes went stone cold at the sight of him, and how his gaze followed him as he moved across the room to Spock.

“How are things going?” Jim asked Spock, feeling the greatest urge to open his arms to the man and greet him with a smooch on the lips or cheek. Little signs of affection like that were exactly what Jim wanted at a time like this.

“Sufficiently,” Spock answered as he motioned Jim to his scanner.

As Spock spoke about what he was processing through the scanner, Jim leaned into it and took a peek at what was so interesting. To him, it looked like just a bunch of black dots on the screen, but to Spock it was a work of art. Jim wasn’t much for art, but he smiled and nodded anyways, placing his hand on Spock’s back.

“Looks good,” Jim informed, looking briefly at Sovik to gauge his reaction on the hand he currently had on Spock’s broad and muscular back. Sovik was clearly unimpressed. He moved from his position by the Renneral to stand at a closer distance to the Vulcan, with his hands crossed over his chest.

Jim turned from the scanner, bringing Spock along with him as he looked at the rest of the room. “It’s a little dark in here,” Jim mumbled towards Spock, squinting through the dim light at the piles of boxes and containers thrown around the room. He then looked back up at Spock, who was looked at the same mess.

“It must be this ambiance for the various projects that are taking place,” Spock explained. “I think you will find this fascinating.” Spock motioned Jim to the plant in the corner.

Both of them kneeled next to the plant to admire its beauty. “She’s beautiful,” Jim smiled, looking at the way it seemed stiff like metal, yet moved like a snake. He looked over at Spock who was more interested in Jim’s reaction than the plant. Once their eyes met, they both looked back towards the plant.

Sovik moved behind them, a rush of anger coming off of him and nearly making the plant turn inwards. However, Jim ignored the testy Vulcan behind them, and continued to attempt to push his buttons. “What is it called?”

“Fo-weinvaksur,” Spock said with perfect articulation. Jim could feel his heart ringing with satisfaction. He could fall asleep listening to Spock speak Vulcan. It was the absolute most beautiful language he had ever come across. Their calligraphy and language both made it the most remarkable form of communication Jim had ever known.

Jim remembered during one of their breaks when Spock had shown him how to write their names in Vulcan Calligraphy. Jim was extremely perplexed by the way it was written in columns rather than from left to right, but what was even more astonishing was the way Spock created these intricate pieces of art so effortlessly. Jim was determined from that moment on to learn Vulcan and the calligraphy that went along with it, but at the current time he was at a loss for what Fo-weinvaksur meant.

Jim had only to open his mouth before Spock answered his question. “Fo-weinvaksur translates to armoured beauty.”

It was beautiful. The name, the plant, the man translating. Everything was perfect and indescribable. Jim wanted to take Spock’s hand into his own. Then, Jim began to act on instinct once again, trying not to consciously think about his actions in fear that he would talk himself out of it.

One of Spock’s hands was settled on the ground next to Jim’s, keeping the Vulcan balanced as he was sitting on his heels. Jim reached his fingers over, and rested them against Spocks, knowing at that moment Spock was probably going to stand up and kick him out. They both refrained from showing public affection, especially since they weren’t really officially anything romantic yet, but he was sure this would be no exception for Spock.

Yet, Spock didn’t move his hand. He didn’t move into Jim’s touch, but he didn’t move away either, which was just as pleasing to Jim. He then pressed his thumb against Spock’s as they both looked over the plant together.

“The exterior of this specimen is quite deceiving,” Spock pointed out, ghosting his hand over the edges of the plant, looking at the growing fascination on Jim’s face as he did it.

“Wow,” Jim pressed his fingers over the side of the plant as well. He felt the warmth exuding from it and it reminded him of the kind he usually felt when he touched Spock. The unique plant curved its body against Jim’s hand, eliciting a very faint shiver and a purr. Jim raised his eyebrows at Spock. “Wow!”

Spock twitched his lips at the feeling of Jim’s hand tightening against his on the floor. He also found the limited speech rather entertaining. “Indeed,”

The plant truly enjoyed Jim’s presence, as it began to bend its body pleasantly along with his hands. The purring had turned into a heavy rumbling noise, like a tiger’s purring compared to a kitten’s. Both Jim and Spock watched the way to plant twisted its tiny little appendages, wrapping gently around the ends of Jim’s fingers. Jim was smiling, but he was thoroughly amazed by the plant. He had never seen something like this before.

Sovik moved angrily behind Jim, his hands clenched into tight fists behind his back. “The plant is exceptionally temperamental,” Sovik nearly growled, “I would appreciate it if you would remove your hands, Captain.” The word captain came out as more of a hiss than anything else, and Jim felt himself elated with the prospect of getting under Sovik’s skin. Two could play this game, but Jim knew he just had to play it a little smarter.

“Well, I would ask that you not occupy my crew members in their off time when there’s no emergency, considering that they need their rest Sovik,” Jim raised himself off the floor and stood directly in front of Sovik, about an arm’s length away from each other. Even with Jim’s predatory stance, he still managed to elicit a calm and relaxed tone.

Spock’s eyes widened as he looked up at Jim and Sovik, sharing fuming expressions. What surprised Spock more than anything was not the way that Jim was looking at Sovik; it was the way Sovik was looking at Jim. His eyes were tense and wide and for a moment, Spock feared that Sovik would try to project himself into Jim. He feared that he would apply some Vulcan controls to his beloved captain, and he could not accept that.

By pushing his hands against the floor, Spock attempted to rise to his feet, but he couldn’t manage to bring himself an inch above it. In fact, instead of remaining on his heels, he fell back onto his backside and gripped the side of his head desperately.

With every word the captain interchanged with Sovik, Spock could feel it echo into his mind. When he opened them, all he could see was the world around him, blurred like a water painting. He squinted and tried to adjust his eyes to the foggy surroundings. He panicked for a moment as he heard Jim and Sovik talking but he could not discern which direction they were.

“I find your tone of voice insulting, Captain. I would have expected more from the man who runs a starship.” Sovik’s eyebrow shot up in an unimpressed and smug expression. Jim could not believe a Vulcan could be so ridiculous.

“Really?” Jim almost laughed as he placed his hands onto his hips, going into a powerful and open stance. “I’m surprised you had such faith in a human captain.”

Spock closed his eyes, trying to regain his full control. He pulled himself from his surroundings, and went into his mind, filtering out every noise that was coming in. Finally, when his thoughts were clear of all the nonsense, Spock was able to focus on his breathing, his fingers, his toes, and every inch of his body. He regained himself again, beginning to move each part.

As he started to pull himself off the floor, Sovik raised his voice, shocking Spock and reminding him that the two men were still arguing.

“I have not found the experience of the Enterprise, or Starfleet for that matter, to be a pleasant one,” Sovik barked back to Jim in the most controlled way he could; however, he was breaking. “If you do not watch yourself,Captain, you may be the reason why this remarkable project is sold for double to a different organization.”

Jim furrowed his brows, “Would it be?” Jim asked, now bringing his arms over his chest humorously. “And what would you report to Starfleet that I did?”

He still spoke in the most calm and relaxed tone he could manage. In fact, Jim hadn’t even yelled during the entire exchange. Even during their rough exchanges he was still the more competent one, which Jim found rather odd. Weren’t Vulcans supposed to have incredible control? “I would really like to know how I can make your experience on the Enterprise a pleasant one.”

Spock finally wobbled beside the two of them, standing straight and tall. Jim looked over at him, wondering  if Spock had just been sitting on the floor the entire time, or if he had been standing there and he just hadn’t noticed.

Sovik’s mouth curled slightly. “I wish for you to not hover over my project. I find your presence irritating and unproductive.” His eyes met with Spock’s. “Spock, however offers me useful assistance which I am very appreciative over. So it would seem he is one of the only things keeping Renneral in the Federation’s hands.”

Jim bit his cheek angrily. He didn’t want to have to punch Sovik in the jaw, but it was getting to that point. It was getting to the point where Jim truly believed he had the capability to take this inconsiderate bastard to the grave. It took three even breaths for Jim to get to a place where he could see something other than a target over Sovik’s face.

“Sovik.” He sighed to help regain some of his sanity. “I don’t want to argue like this. As the captain, I have access to every part of this ship. But trust me when I tell you that I would appreciate nothing more than to give you your space.”

“Then I will accept it,” Sovik interrupted with a very cold and serious tone.

Jim paused for a moment, his mouth still half open from speaking before he was rudely cut off, “But…” He continued, wanting to roll his eyes. “I have to have full access to everyone and every place on this ship for the safety of all. That includes Spock.”

Sovik approached the plant which was leaning towards the captain affectionately. His eyes stabbed the plant with incredible hatred. “Captain,” he exhaled loudly. “I ask you to leave. You are distressing the project.” He turned around quickly, his loose fitting tunic swaying as he stood conservatively a foot away from him. “You risk contaminating it as well.”

“Contaminating?” Jim sighed. There was nothing genuine about the man in front of him. Everything about him he hated. There was not a single quality in the Vulcan that he found admirable.

“Yes,” Sovik nodded. “Yes, contamination. By you being here you could tarnish the Renneral or any of our materials as you do not know how to professionally handle them.”

Jim turned to Spock and raised an eyebrow. “Have I contaminated the Renneral, Spock?” Jim turned to Sovik again, once again seeing nothing but a target over the disgusting face in front of him. “I don’t even know where the Renneral is.”

“Jim,” Spock placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder, trying to calm his captain from a foreseeable outburst. Part of Jim was grateful for Spock’s touch, and the other half of him wished Spock was not in the room anymore. If Spock wasn’t around, he would have completely cracked the older Vulcan’s jaw, and left him on the floor.

Wow. Since when did he start thinking like that?

“What is your professional opinion, Commander?” Sovik asked. “Would it be wise to allow a human like your captain to walk around and potentially destroy my project, or would it be logical to have him removed?”

Both men turned towards Spock who had practically fainted at their feet unknowingly. He gathered his thoughts on the subject for a moment, feeling somewhat rattled from his previous experience. He assumed it was his intense need to meditate that had brought on the mental attack.

“Jim,” Spock sighed, his hand still firm on his shoulder. Sovik’s gaze followed the interaction, glaring at Jim as he flipped back and forth from Spock’s hand to Jim’s eyes. “You risk possible contamination,” he began, causing Sovik to nod his head.

“And that is the opinion of your first officer,” Sovik pointed out smugly before motioning Jim towards the door.

“However,” Spock started once again. “I do not believe Captain Kirk would be so irresponsible to behave in such a way. Therefore, I do not see him an immediate risk to the RU-598 project.”

Sovik was visibly annoyed. Jim could tell by the way he turned his head toward the wall, away from the hand on his shoulder which was now dropping slowly.

“Well,” Sovik nearly grumbled. “It is fortunate that I am in charge of the group. A possible contamination is still a hazard, and I will not accept it. I would appreciate it if the captain would remove himself.”

Just as Sovik pointed towards the exit, a buzzing came from the intercom near the doorway. Everybody in the room went silent as Jim approached the small device and pressed his finger into the button. “Kirk here.”

“Captain, this is Ensign Chekov. We have to submit the report to Starfleet about our progress and need your signature.” Chekov’s thick Russian accent sounded throughout the room.

“Alright, Mr. Chekov. I will be right up.” Jim turned to Sovik and Spock.

There was silence again until Jim moved towards the two Vulcans, his eyes focussed on Sovik, filled with masked anger. “I’m needed on the bridge.” I’ve been summoned out. You had nothing to do with my leaving. Jim wanted to shout back at the smug look on Sovik’s face.

Sovik turned from Jim and returned to his work, asking Spock a question regarding his finding in the scanner. Spock looked over towards Jim, his eyes questioning and conflicted. Was he expected to follow Jim? Or was he to remain in the labs and finish the work he had already started? Spock was torn. His beloved captain, or his love of science?

If Spock was given a chance to do as he truly pleased, he would pick neither. He would choose to return to his room and curl up onto his bed to the smell of his meditation candles. To feel relaxed, centered, and himself once again would outweigh both. He knew that if he had been himself throughout this ordeal between the captain and their guest, he would have been able to settle things a bit more, and control the situation a bit better. That was what Jim had probably expected from him in the beginning.

But Spock was a Vulcan of his word, and he turned his head back to the scanner and peered into it, continuing his work and an efficiently quick pace. He said nothing in response to Sovik, and he didn’t continue his exchange with Jim. He simply returned to his work. It was only logical.

What would Spock be saying if he up and quit on his task? His working with Sovik was not a selfish deed, nor was it a gift, and it was most certainly not a way to get at Jim. It was a promise Spock had given to Sovik, as well as a positive contribution to the universe--a discovery to offer the galaxy and its inhabitants. Any other decisions on the matter would have been decisions based on emotion. Emotions were illogical.

Jim felt himself losing ground. He didn’t mind it at all when Sovik gave him the cold shoulder; in fact,he welcomed it. When he got it from Spock, however, it hurt like a cut on a blister. He hadn’t expected Spock to remain here with Sovik, especially after the way Sovik had just treated him. Had he truly thought Spock would take a bullet for him? Would Spock really risk everything for his captain? Maybe…. but would he do it for Jim? Jim wasn’t sure anymore.

But, what had he expected? Other than the casual glances, there was really nothing to prove to Jim that Spock was entirely interested in him. There had been no confessions, no I love you’s, no attempts to further this relationship whatsoever. Maybe Jim imagined the whole thing. Maybe he had dreamt the whole possibility, and made up the rest as he went along.

So maybe the relationship wasn’t real, but there was no doubt that Spock had loyalty. Whether it was professional or personal,  it was definitely there. Jim knew that among everyone on the ship, Spock was truly the only one, aside from McCoy, who he could confide.

Two individuals out of four hundred and thirty. But what separated his trust in Spock from McCoy, was the fact that Jim felt like he could expose a side of himself that McCoy would never understand. And if Jim could be brutally honest, he didn’t want him to understand. There were certain aspects of Jim that he felt only safe sharing with Spock, and he didn’t want another person in the entire universe to know.

He had once trusted Carol in this way. He had shared a part of himself with her that she had rejected along with the ring. It was hard to share things with her since he never felt comfortable enough to open up to other people. It wasn’t something Jim did often, and part of him was glad that he had done it. He had experienced the risks of letting go in front of the wrong people. He had learned what it felt like to have complete trust in someone, and then turn around and have none.

This couldn’t be the same thing. He wouldn’t accept it. Spock was so caring and thoughtful when it came to him, and he thought that their friendship alone meant something to Spock. There had to be a reason why Spock had never spent personal time with another human being until he had met Jim.

It wasn’t just Jim who noticed; it was the entire crew. Jim remembered one instance when a group of engineers had challenged a couple of the bridge crew member to a friendly basketball competition in the main gym. Spock didn’t participate since he decided to stay back and take command in Jim’s absence, but the Vulcan did make an appearance. After the game, he had brought Jim some refreshments and sat with him while he replenished.

A few of the crew members had confronted Jim about his odd relationship with Spock, questioning him on how he managed to get on Spock’s good side like that. And since Jim had no idea what they were talking about, he remembered one of them clearly informing him:

“I used to work with Spock back before you took command. I’m telling you that Vulcan is not a friendly guy. He never said a word to anybody. He only talked to commanding officers and only recognized us when he was telling us what to do. He never smiled, he never joked. He just went from point A to point B, and then back to point A again. Now, he’s like a completely different person. I mean you guys are actually friends. How did you do it?”

How did he do it? He didn’t think he had miraculously changed Spock in any way, shape, or form, but he often wondered why Spock had chose him to open up to. How did they become so close to each other, to the point where Jim wanted to risk it all just to hold him in his arms?

Jim rolled his eyes as he walked out the doors of the lab. He moved towards the bridge at an unnaturally fast pace. He didn’t want to look back or have any reason for stopping. He simply wanted to get to the bridge so that he could go to his quarters, or the gym, or sickbay (anywhere, really) faster. He just needed some time to think and take a breather.

Maybe things weren’t so bad. Spock had proven was an individual who would risk his life for his captain, and his job. Spock was also eternally loyal to his career and science. Jim was certain the Vulcan would marry his tricorder if it was the logical thing to do. Jim felt himself smile slightly.

Things would work out fine between them. Jim just had to be patient as well as separate himself from Sovik for as long as he possibly could.

He reminded himself of the insufferable attitude of the older Vulcan. What kind of argument was that anyway? How could Sovik even begin to ask him to not check up on the labs, on his own ship? How dare he accuse Jim of possibly contaminating his precious substance? The more Jim thought about it, the more he didn’t want this Renneral in the Federation. He would survive with his good old fashion dilithiums.

Jim finally reached an empty lift and stood inside it. His face looked concentrated, as if he were in deep perilous thought.

“Bridge,” he commanded in a deep tone, his hand clamping around the handle on the wall. He could feel the lift finally take off in the direction he was asking for.

The image of Sovik and his smug face came back into his mind, assaulting him and tempting him to turn the lift around and save his friend.

It didn’t feel right, leaving Spock behind, even if Spock chose to be. He felt as though he had to be there beside him, to comfort him and to protect him. He knew that Spock was more than capable to take care of himself, probably more capable than Jim would be, but he still felt the need to be there.

Finally, the lift halted and Jim walked onto the bridge. He would have to put all the mess with Spock behind him for now. Besides, he was sure things were going to work out. Spock was just finishing his work, just like Jim was doing right at that moment. There was nothing more, nothing less going on in those labs.

Then it hit Jim, just as he looked towards the communications station and remembered the way Uhura and Scotty were so happy in the lift. It wasn’t that Spock had stopped being loyal to him; it was that he had stopped being loyal to Spock. As the captain of the Enterprise, he was above the petty ways Sovik tried to get under his skin. Yet, he had allowed it to happen. He had allowed for Sovik to make him believe for a second that Spock no longer cared. He had gotten Jim to a place where he didn’t trust Spock to make the right decisions--as if Spock would somehow turn on him.

He trusted Spock to no end and he would do anything in the world for the Vulcan; all he had to do was ask. He couldn’t believe he would ever doubt Spock’s decision to stay back and finish his work. Spock had displayed affection he had never seen him show to another living soul, and it was all for him. Jim wasn’t the only one trying. Spock just did things a little differently.

“Sir,” Yeoman Rand handed Jim the PADD with a smile. “If you could sign this,”

Jim took the device from Janice’s hands and signed off on it slowly, giving it back to her with his signature. When she took it from him she gave Jim a confident, and luring smirk, offering a wink before she departed from the bridge through the lift.

Everything was going to be ok. Jim and Spock were going to be ok.

-

Sovik swallowed hard as he covered the samples. His eyes had never left Spock as he set them aside and took a seat at the table next to the second box of Renneral. He opened it up and began placing them onto tiny clear slabs so that they could be analyzed under various scanners.

Spock hadn’t said a word since the moment Jim left. Everything had gotten very quiet very fast. In fact, even the plant seemed quiet. When Jim had been present, it was perky, active and even purring, but when the captain left, Sovik noticed the way it drooped towards the ground. He wanted to crush the plant in his hands, rip it apart and then use the long, slinky stem of it to wrap around the captain’s throat. It would please him to no end to see him in such a state. To have so much power over the man who stood between him and his goal. His Spock.

‘A man,’ he nearly snorted with laughter, but he refrained from such displays of emotion. He instead tightened his hands into fists on top of the table. He tried to will away the animalistic feeling within him, tried to push the instinct away from himself. He could be at peace... all he had to do was close his eyes and be at peace.

Then Spock adjusted his stance, leaning further into the scanner as he counted some anomalies on the screen.

The entire picture was really something to shake a stick at, he thought to himself dirtily. He felt his hand fall beneath the table as he watch Spock’s broad shoulders relax and his hand rest at the base of the scanner. Sovik envisioned the olive coloured skin covering his entire body, and he felt himself get hard fast.

‘Not now,’ Sovik thought, trying to force himself to push those tempting thoughts away.

But the sight of Spock’s perfectly rounded backside, accentuated by the tight fit of his regulation Starfleet pants, really got Sovik going. He could feel the heat begin to rise within him, his heart beating powerfully in his side.

The thought of feeling Spock’s flesh in his hands was very exciting for him. Picturing Spock pressing back into him and grinding their hips together got Sovik incredibly hot and hard. As he moved his tunic out of his way he could feel the stiffness in his pants bulging against the fabric painfully, and he begged himself to take control of those urges. It was far too soon, this was not the time.

Spock stood up from his position, and Sovik felt saddened by that. He was enjoying the priceless view of his new Vulcan friend, bent over and working unsuspectingly. Sovik just wanted to creep behind the tall, thin Vulcan, and take him without warning. He wanted to press Spock’s face into the Renneral samples, listen to him moan and beg for more, and then link their minds together in one swift motion. He wanted that desperately. He wanted that instantly.

Still, it was not the time or the place for such an occurrence. There was far too much at stake now. Though Spock had chosen his company over the captain’s, it did not mean that he had won the Vulcan over. He could sense uneasiness within the half-breed, an uneasiness he wished he could make disappear.  

His hard member ached in his pants once Spock bent over the scanner once again, recording some last results from a new slide. He shifted slightly, evenly distributing his weight. In order to do this, it required Spock to separate his feet slightly, highlighting his rear end even better. Sovik moaned silently under his breath.

Sovik’s eyes travelled up from Spock’s shiny boots, up his long and slim legs, and then finally to the beautiful curves of his ass. His eyes looked hungrily over the Vulcan, wanting to plow into him without any second thoughts. He wanted to claim that body, plant his seed within him, to mark him with his scent. He wanted the assurance that nobody would attempt to cross this magnificent Vulcan ever again.

Spock’s hands tensed on the scanner, and then turned his head to look back at Sovik with his eyebrow turned upwards. His lips looked beautiful. He could only imagine how wonderful it would feel to press his fingers up against them, and to meld their minds together. That was something the captain would never be able to have with Spock--to literally become one with him.

He watched as Spock opened his mouth to speak, his expression lacking genuine concern, but curious none the less. He knew that Spock must have been put off about the things he said about his beloved captain. Still, Sovik did not regret a word he had spoken.

“Are you alright?” Spock asked, finally straightening himself out and facing Sovik. His eyes looked heavy and tired, and he wobbled slightly as a sign of mental fatigue. He supposed Spock was in dire need of meditation or sleep, and he could understand both since there had been many nights where he desperately required the same. He figured he should allow Spock the permission to leave the lab and finish the samples another day; however, Sovik couldn’t ask Spock to take that view away from him.

“I am quite alright,” Sovik replied, his hand pawing at his hard cock through his pants, under the table. “You may continue your scans.” It was more of a demand than a suggestion. If he could, he would stand up and make Spock bend over that scanner again. Instead, he released his swollen flesh from out from its entrapment, and he slowly began to sooth it with gentle rubs, watching Spock turn back to his work.

He imagined his hand being the tight heat of Spock’s channel, and pictured what an incredible sensation if would be to have Spock bouncing on and off him, in front of the captain. Yes, that was exactly what Sovik desired at that moment. To take Spock from his captain and to show him what he could never have. He wanted Jim to watch every filthy exchange he had to share with his first officer.

Sovik wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself. As his hand tightened around his throbbing member, he remembered the instance down on Stronos, where he had attempted to hurt the ones he loved. He couldn’t promise Spock he wouldn’t attempt the same.

As he looked the younger Vulcan over, he made a mental check of how difficult Spock would be to take control of. He wondered how hard it would be to push him over the table, wrap his hand around his mouth, and fuck him violently. It also got him to thinking whether or not the captain had already been there. Had he already taken this Vulcan in such a private way? Or, was Sovik going to be the first one?

Spock stood up again, silently placing the samples he was analyzing into their appropriate containers. He then stiffened, and Sovik knew that was the face the half-Vulcan had made before he sneezed the first time. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t do it again. He understood that Spock had no control over his human blood, but it was still shameful to see him behaving so humanly, with such a handsome Vulcan exterior.

Thankfully, Spock didn’t sneeze. Instead, he set the boxes onto the table, and turned to face Sovik. “I have completed the scans,” he stated, his voice gentle and quiet. Sovik could tell that Spock wasn’t in need of sleep as he was for meditation. As he stood in front of him, he could feel the weakening shields, desperately trying to re-erect themselves.

That would make things so much easier for him…

“I must return to my quarters, Sovik,” Spock declared, slinging his personal tricorder over his shoulder before heading toward the door.

Sovik couldn’t leap from his chair, nor could he put useful words together to try and influence the Vulcan to stay. He didn’t want Spock to leave and he didn’t want to miss his opportunity with the Vulcan.

As Spock fully left the room without saying another word, Sovik felt a bit relieved. It was probably for the best. If Spock would have stayed a moment longer, he was sure he would lose all control and brutally take what he wanted from the half-breed.

He toyed with himself under the table, remembering that beautiful image that was before him moments ago.

And there Sovik remained, hiding his frustration under the table as he pictured ravaging Jim’s first officer in front of him.

Even after some time,  Sovik found no release. No matter how hard he moved his fist or tried to fondle himself to some sort of conclusion, he would just become more and more frustrated. He wanted to feel relief, and he wanted the burning sensation in his head to stop. However, it wasn’t enough to sit and think about what he desired. No. He needed the real thing.

Sovik stood up, pulling at his hair, and growling through his teeth. It was almost painful the way his instincts took over him. He felt so capable, yet so vulnerable at the same time. All logic slowly receded away from him, and Sovik fell to the ground, pressing his fists into the cold floor.

Then he heard it, a quiet cooing sound from the corner. As he raised his head to look up to the corner, he saw the plant, waving into the air as it normally did--the plant which had also fallen for the captain, just as Spock had.

Sovik, with all the anger and frustration he had building up inside him, approached the plant with an evil glare in his eyes. The closer he got to the small living thing, the move it shriveled into itself, hoping that Sovik would eventually move so that it could return to trying to attract its next meal.

It was incredible how easily the stem and branches snapped. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so simple for a human to do, but under Sovik’s Vulcan strength, it was child’s play. He listened to the dying shrills of the plant, the way it begged for life and alarmed any other living beings of its distress. Sovik could sense the way the plant sought out assistance, he could feel the frightful energy flow coursing out of its dying body. A smile actually came to Sovik’s face with all his shields burnt to the ground, and all he could feel was the pain from the plant.

It was delicious to feel so superior, and powerful above another life form. He imagined that the plant’s feelings, would be very much the same to the captain’s feelings had he been the one squirming under his murderous grip. He could picture it perfectly, the way Jim would beg and plead for his life, and the way he would shiver at the thought of losing it.

Sovik envisioned blood--red blood--dancing across the room, painting itself among the walls and tables. He could picture the way Jim would convulse and collapse into his own crimson fluid, just like the plant was juddering in pieces in the pot. He could almost see the individual limbs of the plant representing torn parts of the appalling excuse for a captain.

Finally, relief took over. Sovik had found some form of peace he could relax to. Violently ripping Jim to shreds was almost as tempting as ravaging the first officer. Almost. Sovik could still feel himself hard, but the mental relief he had achieved from Jim’s fictional pain was overwhelming.

As he resurfaced a bit, coming down from the high of having imagined himself taking the captain’s life, Sovik finally realized what had truly transpired. He had been so angry he hadn’t even realized he killed the only fo-weinvaksur they boarded. There wasn’t enough time or resources to bring it more of them aboard, and the plant was considerably rare on the planet to begin with.

The plant had adored Jim. It had sung like a love bird when Jim ran his fingers along its sides. ‘This pathetic, disgusting, plant,’ he snarled to himself. Sovik was glad it was gone. But, the foweinvaksur wasn’t his project alone, unfortunately. It had belonged to a few other members of the RU-598 group and they would surely feel emotional at from its death.

Sovik raised his eyebrows, and backed away from the plant sinisterly.

He tossed the last limb of the armoured beauty back into the pot, dusted his hands off, and turned back towards his work. “It’s unfortunate when certain Captain’s don’t take warnings seriously.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed, I can't wait to hear what you guys think so far!!! <3 LLAP


	7. When I Am Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to my wonderful, super awesome, incredible, beta plaidshirtjimkirk. I swear this story would be SOOOO horrible if it wasn't for her!!!! <333 I always recommend her stories, so definitely give them a try if you haven't already!!!!
> 
> Also thank you to my readers!!! You are all fantastic and you truly inspire me to keep this story going. :) 
> 
> Happy reading everybody <33 please enjoy

When I Am Weak

 

Jim ran his fingers through his hair. The PADD on the desk in front of him was now beginning to hurt his eyes. Staring at its bright light, while the lights were at forty percent, was inspiring a headache. Slowly, he soothed the pain with his fingers, massaging his temples and forehead.

When he removed his hands from his face, he could still feel the pain that resided there from earlier. Every time he opened his eyes to read the printing on his PADD, his eyes would begin to strain and then blur causing his to close them. It was looking like it was about time he made his way back to his bed.

Upon standing, Jim switched his PADD into sleep mode, and then carefully placed it in its casing. He stored it on one of the nearby shelves where he normally kept it, making sure not to knock any of his books off. Jim had a relatively clean living area, aside from the occasional misplaced shoes or shirts, but all together he liked his things organized.

As he turned away from his desk, he moved to the dresser where he found his Starfleet pyjama bottoms. After slipping into his bottoms, he decided that there was no need to put the matching top on. He often enjoyed sleeping shirtless, and tonight Jim felt as though he deserved it.

After donning the appropriate sleepwear, Jim wandered into the bathroom. On his way, he noticed the chronometer on the wall. _‘21:12,_ ’ Jim noted to himself. He felt as if it was much later than that, but he was guessing that he was so tired simply from the fact that he had exhausted himself in dealing with Sovik that evening. As well, it didn’t help that Jim drank three glasses of whiskey with the good doctor, just to get some of his frustration off of his chest.

It always helped to talk with McCoy about these types of things. From everyone on the Enterprise, McCoy was the best for listening and understanding Jim’s problems. He had confided in him with the issue regarding Carol, and discussed professional concerns with him--yet, Jim still could not find it in himself to speak with him about his relationship with Spock. No matter how comfortable Jim felt with others, he still could not manage to let another living soul know about what was going on between him and his first officer.

Well… whatever it was that was going on between them.

Though what Jim shared with Spock was confusing, unidentified, and mysterious, he still felt incredibly confident in it. As of lately, his Vulcan friend had been displaying tiny shows of affection at the most unexpected times which made Jim feel as though he was truly getting somewhere. It helped him feel as if he was not alone with his feelings. Spock probably felt the same way.

There had been a time when that was not the case. After Gary Mitchell’s death the two of them gradually drifted closer and closer together, though Jim wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe Jim was desperate to be close to another, to fill the gaping hole in his heart that his long-time friend Gary once filled. Whatever the reason, they drifted closer and closer until Jim realized there was something more.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment it happened. Some days Jim felt as though it had been there the first instance when he had seen Spock. Other times, he believed it was at this time or another time, but the truth was Jim wasn’t sure. It was true, there had always been a strong fondness between the two of them for quite some time, but it was hard to measure when and where their incredible friendship had transitioned into what Jim had recently discovered to be love.

‘ _Why can’t you say it?’_ Jim questioned to himself, biting his lip gently as he moved into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Why couldn’t he say it? Three simple words that could take all the worry and frustration off of him. He could finally understand how Spock was feeling, he could finally solidify what they were, and he could possibly walk away with a Vulcan in his arms. Three words could possibly bring him utter happiness.

Three dangerous words.

What if Spock didn’t feel the same way? What would become of them if Jim admitted to such a profoundly emotional and personal thing, and Spock didn’t reciprocate similar feelings? Could they manage a friendship after something so deep and private has been revealed? It would be devastating to have Spock walk out of his life now; now that he was feeling so strongly for him. Beyond an intimate feeling for Spock, he truly adored the Vulcan as an individual. He loved him like a brother, a best friend, and a lover. It was complicated and it was confusing, but it was what it was.

Perhaps what made matters even more terrifying, was how new everything was to Jim. Sure, he had been in his fair share of relationships, but there had been nothing like this before. He had never loved a Vulcan before in his time. In fact, Spock was the first Vulcan Jim had truly gotten to know and understand. Beyond the species difference, he had also never loved a male before, and that in itself was a very daunting notion. There was absolutely nothing wrong with homosexuality to Jim; in fact, he wasn’t opposed to it for himself, but at the same time he had never done it, and new things had a strange habit of being scary.

Jim smiled slightly at his reflection for a moment as he thought about the possible responses Spock could make towards finding all of this out. He could imagine Spock quoting regulations, denying him, breaking his heart and so forth… but when Jim thought back to the way Spock had pet his hand underneath the table during dinner, he felt as though there was hope.

He finally finished combing through his hair, and as he stepped back from the mirror, he looked over towards Spock’s door on the other side of the bathroom. Since their quarters were separated only by one bathroom, Jim always felt compelled to use the doorway as an entrance into Spock’s quarters… so he could enter at his own will to just say hi to his old friend.

There didn’t seem to be much activity in the room next to his, as usual. Spock was a very clean, very quiet neighbour. He never heard Spock rustling about, even when his sound proofing was on.

A small smile came and went over Jim’s face as he turned back towards his own quarters. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear from beyond the door, but part of Jim wished he had heard _something_ so that he could have some reason to barge through those doors and see his lovely Vulcan.

Aside from Spock’s quarters, nothing seemed more tempting than his soft bed. He had been craving the warm embrace of his Starfleet issued blanket, as well as the extra plush comforter he had brought back from a planet they had visited called Cerulean. They gifted him the lovely material as a token of their gratification of having the him convince their leader to free some of their native people. It had been a long and grueling negotiation, but there had been some nights where Jim would do it a hundred times over for another one of their magnificent covers.

This was one of those nights.

Jim rubbed a hand over his bare chest, as he sank into his bed cozily. He draped one of his other hands off the side of the bed and slowly closed his eyes. “Lights at ten percent,” Jim muttered into the darkness.

Now with his eyes closed, and his breathing steady, Jim decided to bury himself under the his mountain of blankets. Once he was situated and ready for sleep, Jim felt himself slowly drift into unconsciousness.

He dreamt of Iowa. The corn was bursting through the crumbly earth, and the rows were so incredibly even that Jim could not believe that his folks had planted it. There wasn’t a single row that was shorter than another was, or taller. Each one was as perfect as the next, and as luxurious as the others were.

When Jim had moved the corn from his view, he had begun to walk through the thick stalks. Even as the heavy leaves brushed against his face, he couldn’t feel any of the edges pierce his skin. In fact, the touch of the leaves almost felt comforting.

The further Jim got into the brush, the more complicated the rows got. They began to veer off into unfamiliar circles, and would occasionally come across plants that looked nothing like the corn he used to grow on his farm. They were much taller, had a shiny coating, and moved similarly to the Fo-weinvaksur. Jim smiled every time he had passed one.

Eventually Jim reached a place where he could not pass through the rows, and he could not go back from where he came. He felt stuck and caged between the thick stems of the corn as though they were metal bars.

It was then that Jim felt a gentle, warm feeling over his shoulder. When his eyes turned back and then up, he saw the most remarkable sight of all. There before him was Spock dressed in all black civilian clothes. The clothes he was wearing looked extremely similar to the clothes Jim had worn back when he was on the farm, before his days in Starfleet. A pair of jeans, a plaid button up shirt, and a pair of black running shoes. In those familiar clothes, Jim almost forgot that the being in front of him was Spock, but those uniquely handsome features proved otherwise.

“Jim, I have been searching for you for some time,” Spock had said nonchalantly, his eyes searching Jim up and down.

Jim wasn’t sure how to respond. In his dream, everything had made perfect sense. It truly felt as if the two of them were back in Iowa, walking up and down the cornrows. Nothing seemed illogical about it, and he didn’t find it necessary to question; he simply took Spock’s hand in his own, let out a gentle laugh, and walked with his Vulcan. He was no longer lost within the field, and instead he allowed Spock to lead the way towards freedom.

The further along they got, the more their surroundings changed. What was once large growing cobs of corn, had now transformed into spectacular white, blossoming flowers. They appeared to be roses that had expanded to its utmost limit, and when they brushed against his skin, he could smell their sweet captivating scent.

There had been some light conversation as they walked hand in hand, but Jim was not focussed on Spock’s words, but rather his deep and silky tone. His voice seemed so real, so genuine, and he could not find a single flaw in.

Something else had caught Jim’s attention. As he grasped the slender fingers of his first officer, he noticed a hard metal object, intertwined with their fingers. Since their fingers were so closely locked together, it was difficult to pinpoint where exactly the source of the disturbance was, and so Jim took Spock’s hand and held it in front of him for inspection.

Tied around Spock’s finger was Jim’s ring. It had been the ring he had vowed himself to give to Carol before they had gone their separate ways. The ring seemed to fit perfectly, and hugged the Vulcan’s sensitive finger securely.

In fact, it seemed beyond perfect. It seemed to be almost a part of Spock. The way it sat on his finger seemed to be as if it had always been there, and as if it would always remain there. Like a freckle, or a mole, it just seemed to be a part of him.

Jim smiled before drawing the warm hand into his chest, bringing Spock along with it. In one swift motion, Jim was able to cease the words emanating from Spock, and their mouths were so close to meeting that he could almost taste those Vulcan lips on his own.

Suddenly, Jim felt the bed around him, and slowly, he eased his eyes open. He was unsure as to what exactly had caused this awakening, but he was sure of how angry he felt that he had woken up right at that moment. It would seem as though he would never get the opportunity to kiss Spock, not even in his dearest fantasies.

When his eyes were open and wide, he could feel a slight pang in his head as a headache was beginning to form. It was almost as though he could pinpoint the pain from behind his eyes, somewhere in the frontal lobes. A strangled moan quietly escaped his lips.

Sometimes when Jim did not receive the appropriate amount of sleep, he would experience these small migraines. It hadn’t always been that way, but once he took command of the Enterprise, he discovered that the mix of the life support systems, the demanding pace of his work, as well as a lack of sleep often resulted in such discomfort.

He raised himself off the bed and slowly lugged himself across the room to where he opened a cabinet to retrieve some migraine medication McCoy had given him for such occasions. The pain he was experiencing was not life-threatening, or even worrisome for Jim.

For whatever reason, even with his peaceful dreams of Iowa, Jim was still feeling restless in his sleep. There was something distressing his exhausted mind. It was as if he wanted to rest more than anything, but he could not soothe himself into it.

Jim returned to his bed, throwing all the covers he owned over top of his body, and then forcing his eyes closed. When he discovered that every attempt to keep them closed was fruitless, he decided to switch positions… again… and again… and again, until finally he decided on ridding himself one of the blankets.

The chronometer beside his bed blinked, and Jim discovered it was only 22:35. He rolled his eyes. Perhaps he was sleeping too early, and that was why he was struggling so much. After rolling over for the last time, Jim decided to stand up and throw one of his yellow command shirt over his naked chest. He then proceeded to change his pants into a comfy pair of Starfleet regulation trousers, and he headed out the door.

There was nowhere in particular that he was heading, but the further he made it down the corridor, the more he discovered he was most likely heading towards the mess hall for something to treat himself to. Perhaps if he ate something, he would be more likely to fall asleep.

He hadn’t even turned the corner when he saw Spock coming down the hall with his arms tightly placed behind his back. His brows were lowered in frustration, and Jim could tell just by the way he was looking at the ground that there was something deeply troubling the Vulcan. He hadn’t even looked up at Jim when he went to pass him.

“Spock,” Jim called out, turning slightly to watch Spock pass him.

At the sound of his name, Spock turned around to face Jim, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly from their previous drained expression. He took a few steps closer to Jim, before his eyes returned to their fatigued appearance.

“Captain,” Spock greeted, bowing his head lazily. His eyes closed for a few seconds longer than necessary. “I did not anticipate encountering you at such late hours. Are you alright?”

Jim raised his eyebrows at the Vulcan, a small smile waving over him. “I was about to ask you the same question,” he commented, reaching his hand out to touch Spock’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m fine, are you okay?”

Spock took in a lengthy breath before nodding his head. “I am adequate.” The captain’s expression was convincing Spock that he did not agree. “I must admit, however, that I am experiencing difficulty remaining asleep.”

Once again, Jim felt his eyebrows rise, but this time there was no smile to accompany it. Spock not being able to sleep? He had never heard of such a thing. Normally, Vulcans had intense mental abilities that granted them such luxuries as choosing their own circadian rhythms such as sleep. He had become witness to Spock forcing himself into slumber, in which he had described as better than any human sleep could ever be.

However, the proof that laid before him did not lie. Spock looked absolutely beat, and he suspected that it either had something to do with being overworked due to Sovik and his research, or with Spock’s human half. Perhaps this was one of the so-called ‘ _disadvantages’_ to that human blood of his, and maybe that was what prevented him from sleep.

As an attempt to avoid harming Spock’s ego, he decided not to question the reason, and instead decided to be comforting for his distressed friend.

“Yeah, I can’t seem to fall asleep either,” Jim agreed, motioning Spock to follow him.

“Indeed?” Spock questioned, following his captain without question.

“It happens every now and again when I feel overworked, or over tired,” Jim explained.

Spock simply nodded in agreement.  “Yes, you humans tend to push yourselves to your limits without conserving energy. It is most illogical. It would be much more efficient to conserve one’s energy so that performance will be at maximum quality.”

Another smile lifted the corners of Jim’s mouth. He could never keep a straight face when his first officer made remarks like that. “We’re an illogical species, Spock. You should know this by now.”

In an attempt to laugh, Jim instead let out a long and strained yawn, his eyes watering slightly from its determination. He then looked to Spock who responded with silence. Instead of allowing his human half to peek, and to follow up the yawn with one of his own, Spock remained silent.

“Have you tried eating something to help you get back to sleep?” Jim questioned, looking over to his friend for some sort of response.

“Negative,” Spock replied, “I do not require, nor desire sustenance at this moment.”

“You don’t have to be hungry to have a snack Mr. Spock,” Jim laughed softly.

“I do not see the logic in consuming what is not necessary,” Spock replied quietly as his eyelids seemed to get heavier.

It did not take Jim a second glance to realize this, and since his friend was obviously not in the mood to attempt to eat, he decided to change plans.

“Come here,” Jim motioned, leading Spock further down the hall and into one of the rooms on his right. Spock followed diligently, again without question.

As soon as they both entered, Spock inhaled deeply through his nose. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know where Jim had lead him. All around them were various plants and vegetation from planets they had visited. It was not every day that Jim visited this place, and Jim was certain the same was for Spock. However, from all the rooms aboard the Enterprise, _this_ was one of his most favourite ones.

“Let’s take a seat.” Jim pointed to a bench over in the corner where the path curved out of view from the door, and the bench hid behind an overgrown plant that looked remarkably like a purple willow tree.

The two of them continued down the path until Spock stopped to admire one of the plants he had brought back from Vulcan.

“Isuke,” Spock spoke, just above a whisper. He traced his finger over the pale orange petals. This particular plant always managed to remind him of the Ka’s Beach, and the Terran location known as Hawaii.

It was one of Spock’s most beloved spots on Earth. He had first visited before joining Captain Pike on the Enterprise. It had been a form of shore leave he didn’t believe he required; however, he was grateful that he had taken it. Hawaii was very similar to Vulcan in many ways. The way the sunset coloured the sky with various reds and yellows reminded him of his home planet. The heat rising from the sand also brought him pleasant memories of the hot Vulcan sand near his home.

Jim leaned into Spock, wanting to take the Vulcan into his arms and hold him. He held himself back. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was fighting it so much, but he felt as if taking Spock into his arms would somehow overwhelm him.

“It’s beautiful,” Jim whispered back at Spock, his tone gentle and smooth. He could see Spock’s eyes close as he continued to rub the petal, which from Jim’s point of view looked to be made from some sort of velvet material. It shimmered a peculiar colour in the artificial light.

“Quite.” Spock replied, dropping his hand slowly from the plant. His eyes raised up to meet with Jim’s, and his expression was something between deprived and in need. Jim could relate to that look entirely.

“Jim,” Spock began to speak again, his hands returning to their place behind his back. “I wish to discuss something personal with you.”

Jim’s heart began to race painfully in his chest. He bit his lips gently in an attempt to hold himself back from making any embarrassing noises from the sheer amount of excitement he was feeling.

“Anything, Spock,” Jim replied, looking into the tired Vulcan’s eyes.

Spock nodded his head before sighing, “I wish to apologize for this evening.”

“Apologize?” Jim questioned with a short laugh, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Part of Jim felt himself blush slightly from the humiliation of having thought Spock was about to admit something else to him. He felt silly for ever believing that Spock had feelings for him, or would ever do him the honor of coming forth with them. It wasn’t that Jim couldn’t do the same, it was more that he wanted to hear Spock say those words to him. To admit to him that even he, a half-Vulcan, craved this gripping feeling of love.

Spock almost shrugged his shoulders, but refrained. He simply began to walk slowly down the path they had set down earlier, before becoming distracted by the beauty of the Isuke. “I used the incorrect words.” Spock’s mind visibly scrambled to find the right ones it seemed. “I believe you were distressed by what happened earlier.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jim knew exactly what Spock was talking about: the entire ordeal with Sovik and being banned from the labs on his own ship. It had been troubling him all evening and it was beginning to raise his heartbeat just thinking about it.

It seemed that Spock understood Jim’s lies and continued as though Jim had agreed. “I am unsure whether or not you are also distressed by my decision to remain in the labs this evening,” he questioned.

They had finally reached the bench, and Spock dropped himself into it readily, his eyes remaining on Jim as he stood before him.

“Spock, it’s ok,” Jim smiled, looking down at Spock affectionately. “I wasn’t hurt.”

Spock nodded his head. “I find it difficult to assess human emotions. They are foreign to me as a Vulcan,” Spock explained, his head slightly tipped to the side as his eyelids fluttered tiredly.

Jim shook his head, as he studied the condition of his first officer. “I think you need sleep,” he laughed as he took the seat next to Spock.

“I am adequate, Jim,” Spock insisted as he looked over to his right where Jim sat, his arm casually thrown along the bench behind Spock’s back.

“Why are you apologizing for my human emotions, and then going on to tell me that you don’t have them because you’re a Vulcan?” Jim laughed, bringing his arm closer to Spock. “Isn’t restating facts like that _illogical_?”

It was somewhat alarming to see his first officer in such a condition. If he wasn’t so handsome, Jim would have been completely shocked. However, it was slightly surprising. He had never seen Spock so tired that he was nearly falling over onto his side

After a brief pause, Jim began to speak again, “What’s wrong, Spock?” he questioned quietly, somewhat glad to avoid the topic of Sovik and the incident that had taken place earlier. He didn’t wish to speak about it, seeing as he was in such an intimate position with his first officer. He didn’t want to ruin the moment in order to recap events that had caused him such discomfort.

Spock exhaled, his eyes looking up at the ceiling, and then outside of a nearby window. He looked at the passing stars that surrounded the ship. “I have made the attempt to meditate,” Spock started to explain, “and I have been unsuccessful.”

“I see,” Jim replied, his hand pulling closer to Spock, his arm finally touching Spock’s shoulders.

“I have been unsuccessful for quite some time, and therefore, I have been unable to center myself,” Spock explained.

“Oh.” Jim nodded, thinking critically of the words from his first officer. “So why can’t you meditate?”

“It feels as though there are thoughts and disruptions in my mental patterns that are distracting me from being able to focus long enough to reach relaxation. It is the same when I attempt to sleep. There are constant thoughts and disruptions that prevent me from entering a meditative state.”

Jim thought about it for a moment, allowing a silence to grow between them. “It’s sort of the same for me,” he finally concluded, a small smile growing on his lips.

“Elaborate,” Spock gently asked.

“Every time I try to sleep I start thinking about one thing, it leads to another, that thought leads to another, and then I’m stuck thinking about a million things at once.” Jim chuckled, feeling his heart race at the feeling of Spock remaining in his embrace.

“That is not possible, Jim,” Spock began to insist. “Humans are incapable of multitasking to such a degree, especially when it comes to thought patterns. The medial prefrontal cortex, the posterior cingulated cortex, as well as the temporoparietal junction all function in accordance to the …”

“Shh,” Jim hushed with a chuckle. He was both pleased and displeased to hear Spock go quiet. Though he enjoyed the sound of his voice, he was also glad to save himself a fifteen minute lecture about daydreaming when he could use that time to hold Spock in his arms.

The two of them remained quiet for a moment before Spock decided to speak again. “You have been experiencing difficulties sleeping due to the fact that your attention is diverted to multiple contemplations throughout the night, which is preventing yourself from achieving REM sleep,” Spock clarified.

“That’s right, Spock,” Jim answered lazily, leaning his head into Spock’s direction.

“Might I inquire as to what you were pondering during this time?” Spock asked, his eyes looking over at Jim weakly.

Jim placed his hand firmly on Spock’s shoulder and squeezed it gently before laughing. “Well, I did have a moment where I sort of dreamt a bit,” Jim admitted, looking up at the ceiling as he blushed slightly.

Spock hummed slightly which Jim couldn’t discern between a mhm or a uhm;  either way, he took the response as a means to continue speaking.

“I had a dream that I was back on my farm in Iowa,” Jim explained distantly, recalling the old memories of his childhood.

“You lived on a farm?” Spock asked, his eyes closing slightly.

Jim raised his brow at Spock, noticing the way his friend was struggling to keep his eyes from falling shut. “You can close your eyes you know,” Jim laughed, tilting his head lovingly at his adorable Vulcan.

Spock now opened his eyes for good, looking at Jim as though he were caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He straightened himself slightly. “I will restate my previous question.” He reiterated, “You lived on a farm?”

“Yes,” Jim answered humorously, his head turning back to the beautiful plants that surrounded them in the room. “It wasn’t a big farm, but my house had a cornfield in the back.”

“That is quite interesting,” Spock replied.

“Yeah I guess,” Jim smirked. “And you were in my dream too.”

Spock looked over towards the captain sleepily, the need to yawn was there, but Spock contained it. He simply looked at Jim, blinking slowly. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.” He laughed softly, pulling Spock closer slightly.

“I would not be opposed to visiting Iowa in the future. You speak quite fondly of it,” Spock explained as he leaned more into Jim’s body, his eyes fluttering again.

It was sweet for Jim to see his first officer like this. So human. So vulnerable. So like him. He could understand the tiredness Spock was fighting since he, himself, was starting to feel the same. He could barely keep his head up any more, and he then leaned it back against the wall behind them. There was a warmth that embraced his thigh, just above the knee. Jim forced one of his eyes to squint open, and he could see Spock gripping his leg affectionately.

Neither of them spoke for a moment and Jim yawned loudly. The silence was not distressing to them; in fact it was somewhat soothing to be in each other’s presence… almost more therapeutic than the medication Jim had taken earlier.

“How can I help you meditate? Will Bones be able to give you something for that?” Jim asked lovingly.

Spock shook his head, his eyes now closed. “No one can help me into meditation. It is something I must achieve on my own,” he explained quietly.

“So in order to meditate, or to sleep, you need a calm, quiet, comforting environment.” Jim thought aloud to himself.

“It would be beneficial,” Spock answered slowly, not realizing that Jim was not expecting an answer.

Jim nodded with a smile. “I suppose the same would be for me,” Jim muttered.

Instead of seeking out this perfect environment, Jim stayed exactly where he was. He could feel Spock’s head begin to lower into his shoulder, and he could feel the even breaths he was making in his sleep. Jim involuntarily smiled to himself as he looked down at the nearly passed out Vulcan on his arm.

 _‘There isn’t anywhere in this entire universe that is more comforting than right here,’_ he thought to himself with a sigh.

Jim leaned his head against Spock’s, his hand slowly petting Spock’s side. There he felt an odd thumping sensation which he quickly concluded was Spock’s heavy heart beats. It never ceased to amaze him how deliciously unique and special his first officer was. Feeling his heart in his side brought such joy to his own heart that he felt his brain begin to scatter with excitement.

Softly, as to not cause the Vulcan to stir, Jim brushed his face into Spock’s black hair. The scent was incredible and reminded him of the spices that Spock added to his tea in the evening. As well, there was a hint of fragrance from the special meditative candles Spock used. It wasn’t a smell that Jim particularly enjoyed when he entered Spock’s quarters during his meditation, but smelling it on his first officer like this was heavenly.

Finally, Jim turned his face out from the black strands, and he looked over at the plants in front of them. His heart raced unevenly in his chest. “Spock?” he whispered. “Spock?”

There was no response from Spock. There wasn’t even a hint of heavy breathing, or sleepy grunts. Everything about the Vulcan was still and quiet.

Since Jim concluded that the Vulcan was now asleep and unresponsive, he closed his eyes as well.

It had been his plan to whisper something endearing to the Vulcan… to tell him that he was so incredibly fond and taken by him, that he truly believed he was in love with him. But the words never left his lips.

No, he wouldn’t do that to Spock, or himself. Those words meant something special to him, and though he was dying to release those feelings onto another living soul, he was determined to have them heard. He didn’t want to waste them while Spock slept, as to rob them both of that special moment. Instead, he simply placed a gentle kiss on the top of Spock’s head-- completely silent, and unknown to the Vulcan beneath him.

“You make me crazy,” Jim finally settled to say barely below a whisper.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and Jim became unsettled when Spock lifted his body from Jim’s arms. He took a deep breath in, slowly opened his eyes, and regained himself into full consciousness. Jim simply leaned back tiredly and watched Spock.

“Jim?” Spock spoke hoarsely, turning so that he could see Jim entirely.

“Yes?” Jim smiled in return, his eyes were exhaustedly trying to remain open, but they still managed to fill up with admiration.

“I apologize, Captain. That was most unprofessional.”

Jim shook his head. “Don’t call me Captain, Spock. We’re both off duty.” Jim raised his head off the wall behind them. “And since we’re off duty, you can do whatever you like.”

For a moment, Spock remained silent. “At any rate, I do apologize for making you uncomfortable.” Spock then stood up from the bench and stretched his back out slightly, feeling the stiff joints begin to crack from the newly improved posture.

“Don’t apologize, Spock,” Jim grumbled slightly. “You seemed to be really peaceful.”

Spock’s cheeks went a faintly darker green than the rest of his complexion, and if Jim didn’t know better, he would have assumed Spock was blushing. However, he tried to get that thought out of his mind. It was a tempting and adorable idea, but it was much too distracting.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed. “In fact, I must excuse myself, Jim. I believe I will be able to enter a trance now and successfully meditate.”

Jim felt his heart drop. He didn’t want Spock to leave, especially after being so close to him for so long. There was no way that Jim wanted to let this perfect being walk out at a time like this, but after hearing that Spock had centered himself in his arms, he felt elated again.

“I’ll walk you to your quarters,” Jim insisted as he rose up next to Spock with a smile. “I think I’ll be able to get some sleep tonight too.”

And with that, the two of them left for their quarters, talking lightly as they swayed down the hall exhaustedly. Both of them were feeling as though they were dragging weights behind them, but at the same time, also as though they were light as a feather.

They said their goodnights. As soon as Spock entered his quarters, he lit the candles around his meditation stone, stripped his clothes and replaced them with his Starfleet pyjamas, and then kneeled onto the stone with both eyes closed.

He breathed in the scent of the candles, feeling himself lower deeper and deeper into a reflective state. Finally, he had achieved the meditation he had been seeking for days. However, even in this state, he still felt as though his body was roused with a distressful buzz that was attempting to pull him out from his peace at any moment. Spock erected his shields with all the force he could muster, and successfully was able to block it out for a moment.

The strength he had mustered up against the distracting force within him seemed to come from somewhere deep within his mind. It was something he had felt before, but never to such a degree that it actually empowered him. As Spock searched his mind for the pleasing support that had seemed to encourage him into strengthening his shields, he found something surprising, yet completely expected.

There, deep within his mind was an image of Jim. He could see him sitting in his captain’s chair, laughing, supporting, and loving his crew. He could feel Jim’s dedication, courage, and bravery fill him up and reassure him. He could sense the comfort and love he felt from Jim as they had rested in each other’s arms moments ago.

The crashing force against his shields had finally prevailed, and Spock was yet again distracted out of his trance. He could feel a slight banging feeling in his head once more which caused for him to bring his hands up to his temples to support himself.

However, his meditation was not a complete loss, and Spock found the ability to rise off his stone, and blow out the candles. As the lights disappeared, the smell of spiced smoke filled the air around him. He always enjoyed that smell. It reminded him of when his father finished meditation, and Spock would enter the room only to enjoy the captivating scent.

He returned to his bed, still feeling the throbbing pain in his head. Yet, he was able to concern himself with other matters besides the pain. He began to think fondly of his captain once again. He could almost feel those strong, powerful arms holding onto his arms on that bench once again. He could almost feel his face pressed against Jim’s shoulder.

Slowly Spock neared unconsciousness, whether from his overbearing need for sleep or the lightheaded feeling he was experiencing from the sudden impact of his headache. Either way, Spock had fallen asleep to the image of Jim, brushing his face into his bangs and whispering, “ _You make me crazy._ ”

-

 

It had only been five minutes from when Spock had been off duty when he received a call from the RU-598 crew to come down and assist with one of their experiments. He hadn’t even had the chance to consume a meal the entire day, and was now on his way to assist Sovik instead of eating. He exhaled as he made it to the familiar doors of the lab.

When he entered the room, he was greeted by Sovik who was standing directly to the right of the door with his brows lowered in an angry expression.

“Commander Spock,” Sovik spoke, his eyes looking the Vulcan over.

“Sir,” Spock bowed his head respectfully. “Is there something I may assist you with?”

Sovik shared a look of impatience with the Vulcan, his eyes seething with irritation and annoyance. Somehow, Spock felt as though those expressions were not meant for him, but rather for another person. He wasn’t sure why he felt so secure in concluding that, but he felt overwhelmingly convinced.

“I would like to show you something.” Sovik motioned for Spock to follow him into the darkened room where the Renneral was being stored.

Spock followed the Vulcan into the room and noticed the way Sovik’s hands were shaking behind his back. It was odd to see a Vulcan in such disarray. In fact, he had never seen a Vulcan behave in such a way since he had gone through Pon Farr, and had very little control over his body and mind.

When he entered the lab, his attention was quickly diverted from the trembling hands, to the floor. With very little expression on his face, Spock managed to raise one eyebrow as a symbol of his shock and discomfort.

There on the floor, scattered like confetti were the limbs of the beautiful Fo-weinvaksur. It was completely mangled beyond recognition. Though it had been simply a plant to some, it was something that Spock had considered to be a life form in the way it moved, the way it processed its own thoughts. It was almost as though the plant were a living breathing creature, and here it was, murdered in cold blood.

“Who executed this offense?” Spock asked, his hands resting on his hips in frustration and confusion.

Sovik shook his head disappointedly. “It is quite the crime, is it not?” He avoided the question, his eyes lingering over Spock’s body hungrily. “It is quite a shame.”

“Undoubtedly so,” Spock agreed, kneeling down next to the separated limbs where he reached forward and took one of the stringy branches in his hands. He felt it fall limp.

“It is distressing to know that someone had the indecency to perform such a dishonorable act such as this.” Sovik clamped his hands hard behind his back.

“I will reprimand whomever has broken into the lab and destroyed your project, as well as taking whatever measures are necessary to avoid a similar situation in the future.” Spock then turned to the intercom.

“I do not require the captain, Commander,” Sovik explained coldly, his eyes in angry slits.

Spock raised a brow at the other Vulcan, his eyes looking over the others which were brooding. “If we are to take any action on a matter as serious as this, it must be brought to the captain’s attention.”

“I do not wish it,” Sovik spoke loudly and clearly, his voice nearing a yell.

Spock turned his body to face Sovik, his patience thinning as he felt his hunger and lack of meditation wearing him down.

“Sir, I believe you are at a failure to understand that the Enterprise is under the command of James T. Kirk. All information must be brought to the captain’s attention, no matter…” Spock was cut off by the Vulcan in front of him.

“I cannot call the captain because the captain is responsible for this crime.” He seethed with anger, his hands coming from behind his back to pick up the branches pathetically. He began caressing the lifeless limb gently.

It had not even stunned Spock to hear such news because he simply did not believe it. It was unlike the captain to seek out revenge on another person, let alone break into his guest’s lab and tamper with a project that was so vital to the federation. No. Jim was loving, courageous, brave, and sensible. He would not force the life away from anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant it appeared.

“I believe you are mistaken, Sir,” Spock began to explain calmly. “The captain and I were together for a great portion of the previous night. Therefore, it is illogical to assume that he was here when he was clearly with me.”

Sovik shook his head. “No, Spock.” He nearly sighed as he looked down at the plant in his hands with a sorrowful expression. “It was unnecessary for the captain to be here last night for such an occurrence to take place.”

Spock looked down to the pot in which the Fo-weinvaksur used to house. He fingered the soil gently before peering back at Sovik unsurely. “Elaborate.”

“Spock,” Sovik stressed the name from his lips as he stepped closer to the younger Vulcan. “When I told the Captain to leave the lab for fear of contamination, this was precisely what I had anticipated happening.” He glared down at the murdered plant. “This is the Fo-weinvaksur’s defense mechanism.”

“Defense mechanism?” Spock questioned, dusting his hands from the soil mixture from the pot he had just finished toying with. “Why would it have needed to employ it?”

“When threatened, the Fo-weinvaksur begins to break down. Eventually, when it cannot contain its distress, it risks detonation, so to speak,” he explained as he moved beside Spock, his eyes admiring the Spock’s slender fingers.

After some time of careful thinking, Spock turned from Sovik and headed towards the intercom where he pressed his finger into the button and attempted to contact the captain. He received static. An eyebrow shot up.

“Something seems to be wrong with the communication with the bridge,” Spock concluded as attempting to raise the communications officer was unsuccessful as well. He then persistently tried again.

-

 

“It should be working for you now, Sir,” Scotty huffed as he stood up from the floor he had been lying on next to Jim’s chair. As he stood, he began patting at his pants roughly, trying hard to get the dust and dirt off of them.

Jim nodded appreciatively at his friend. He took a seat in the chair, and then began testing out the buttons on his armrest. Once he successfully navigated his way through the different lines he then shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you do it, Scotty.”

“It was really no trouble at all, Captain,” Scotty almost laughed in response. “One of the main circuits blew. I added a wee bit of wires, and then the whole thing started working again.”

Jim smirked at his chief engineer with approval. “I appreciate it.”

With a well-earned sense of pride, Scotty left the bridge with his tools, giving Uhura a fond smile before leaving completely.

Uhura blushed slightly, turning back to her communications screen. Before she had a moment to consider her work, he received an incoming message from one of the labs on deck three. She almost wanted to roll her eyes. This hadn’t been the first call she received from the research team.

They had constantly been buzzing in for assistance from Commander Spock, and almost every time, Jim had told her to respond that Spock was busy. It was beginning to get on Uhura’s nerves, but as a communications officer, she had the will to hold herself back from making any brash decisions.

“Bridge here,” Uhura answered, turning her chair slightly so that she could look towards the captain.

“Spock here.” She heard the familiar voice of their first officer responding through the other end. Her heart leaped slightly. She had always been extremely fond of that tone. “I require the Captain’s assistance in the labs on deck three.”

Jim perked at the sound of Spock’s voice on the intercom, calling his name. He was so distracted by his Lieutenant’s conversation with the Vulcan that he didn’t even hear McCoy walk in through the door.

“I will inform the captain right away,” she replied. “Bridge out.”

Before Uhura could relay the message, Jim was on his feet and heading for the lifts, not even realizing McCoy standing beside the captain’s chair and watching him perplexedly. “What, no hello?” he grumbled, chasing Jim into the lift before he managed to shut them.

“Bones,” Jim greeted through clenched teeth, his eyes ignoring the doctor and staring daggers at the doors as though they were Sovik. “I swear to God we’re going to be short one Vulcan by the end of the day.” He looked up at the doctor with a humourous smirk.

“I’m a doctor, Jim,” McCoy began to grumble. “I’m supposed to keep people alive, not get rid of them.”

Jim massaged his eyes tiredly, his hand clenching the handle on the wall tightly. As soon as he finished with his soothing rubbing, he looked over at the doctor and yawned.

“Didn’t get much sleep huh?” McCoy pointed out, eying the heavy bags under his eyes.

The simple answer was yes, but Jim insisted otherwise, “No, I slept just fine. In fact, I had a great night.”

McCoy laughed slightly. “After you left my office, you were so angry from talking about Sovik that I can’t imagine what put you in a good mood after that.” The more McCoy thought about it, the more he decided against guessing what the possibilities were. His mind had instantly drifted to the idea of Jim and Spock becoming intimate, and he was not mentally prepared for that idea.

The lift doors opened, and Jim gave McCoy a frustrated look. “Well, here I go for round two of verbally wrestling with this Vulcan,” he groaned in annoyance.

Quickly, Jim exited the lift, leaving McCoy to laugh to himself, “I’m struggling with guessing which Vulcan he’s talking about.”

The lift doors split open quickly, revealing Spock and a Sovik standing with two members of the RU-598 crew. As he entered the room deeper, he noticed the remains of the Fo-weinvaksur scattered across the floor.

It had only been yesterday when the plant was purring against his hand, humming softly every time he touched its side. It was illogical, especially with two Vulcans in the room, but Jim felt deeply saddened by what he was seeing there in front of him.

Finally Jim managed to lift his eyes. “Who did this?”

Two of the research team members turned to look at Jim angrily. One of them even clenching both of their hands into fists at his side. “Returning to the scene of the crime?” he mumbled angrily under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Jim questioned, feeling McCoy’s presence at his side once again.

Sovik approached the captain in a cool and collected manner, much different from the distressed Vulcan he had been earlier.

“Perhaps you will take my advice in the future, Captain,” Sovik raised his eyebrow in an unimpressed expression. He turned back to face the crime scene in which Spock was already gathering readings on.

“I’m demanding you answer my first question. What happened here?” Jim continued to question, making sure to enunciate every word with force. He was not in the mood to be playing this game with Sovik. He was far too busy and tired to deal with it.

Jim’s captain voice didn’t seem to bother Sovik in the slightest. He simply shook his head, raised an eyebrow and then continued to speak. “You believed insulting me would hide your mistake in interfering with my studies uninvited.”

Jim’s eyes traced the Vulcan as he began to move closer towards him, his approach almost murderous if he hadn’t been so calm.

“Did I not warn you that you risk contaminating my research? Did I not warn you that residing in my lab without proper training or experience would lead to such a conflict?” He then quickly turned from the captain and caught Spock’s eyes looking back at him. When their eyes met, Spock’s darted back over to his captain’s.

“First of all, these are not your labs,” Jim emphasised, holding back his finger from pointing directly into Sovik’s face. “And secondly, I wasn’t the only one who has touched the plant. Lots of people have touched it.”

Sovik shook his head aggressively. “No, Captain, I cannot risk you interfering with my studies any longer. You will refrain from visiting these labs in the future.” He raised his hands to express his frustration.

“Sir,” Spock spoke in the midst of Sovik’s distress. “I do not believe the captain meant any harm.” It was always nice to have Spock’s presence in such a situation because of his ability to remain calm, logical, and preserved. He simply stated facts with little bias, and worked towards the most peaceful solution.

“Besides,” Jim almost growled. “I’ve already told you Sovik, that as the captain, I have access to every inch of this ship.”

“But look at what you’ve done, _Captain_ ,” one of the research team members quipped towards Jim, obviously convinced that it had been his wrongdoing that had caused the death of the plant.

Jim lowered his brows in a perplexed yet annoyed manner. He couldn’t understand how Sovik managed to convince these men it was he who had caused the plant to … explode? Did they truly believe this?

“Run the security tapes. I want to see what went on in here,” Jim demanded, approaching the corner of the room where he knew one of the cameras must have resided. To his surprise, Spock was right beside him in a matter of seconds.

“I have run all tapes, and it appears that there is a chunk of the footage that is unavailable,” Spock explained, holding the disc in his hand to offer the captain the evidence.

“What do you mean, _unavailable_?” Jim asked heatedly.

“Captain,” Spock replied. “The camera rolls, but there is no picture. I concluded that the footage was not tampered with, seeing that the camera at this moment is not operating properly as we speak, yet there is no sign of damage. As well, access to the cameras can only be obtained by commanding officers.”

“So you don’t think Sovik messed with it?” Jim whispered to Spock, trying not to let the rest of the room hear.

“Not directly with this unit, no,” Spock concluded surely. He then peered back over to the doorway where McCoy was standing, looking down at the plant with an unimpressed expression.

“It’s a plant,” McCoy muttered, as he finally made his way to stand by Jim once again. The three of them looking at one another. “All this chaos for one plant?”

It was obvious to see the strength it took Spock not to roll his eyes. He instead placed the tricorder he had been holding onto the desk in front of them and then gave the doctor an equally unimpressed glance. “The Fo-weinvaksur, Doctor. It is not just some plant.”

McCoy angrily reached for a stem of the plant and waved it before Spock’s face. “I’m not convinced, Mr. Spock.”

Jim shook his head towards McCoy as well, his expression still contemplative over what was going on and what he was convicted for. If Sovik decided that this incident was as serious as he was making it out to be, there was nothing stopping the Vulcan from deciding against the Federation and thus selling his research to one of the dozens of willing buyers throughout the galaxy.

The RU-598 group was a gift to the Federation, and it was causing Jim great distress to imagine what would happen if Starfleet heard he allegedly walked into their lab and unknowingly murdered their plant… even if it wasn’t true.

“Spock’s right. It’s not just a plant,” Jim finally decided to answer the doctor, his eyes now fastened on the lifeless, crumpling, branch in McCoy’s hands.

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. Biologically and physically it was, indeed, just that… a plant. However, there seemed to be something more to the damn thing. It seemed to have something about it that was innocent, loving, and so full of life. It was a living thing that was capable of thoughts and emotions, as clearly Jim had seen it coddle his fingers when he had pet it, and then shrivel in fear when Sovik’s tone rose. He felt connected to it, and it made him sad to lose something so special.

McCoy’s eyes followed as Jim approached Sovik with a heated gaze, yet his posture was more forgiving. “Sovik.” Jim finally spoke professionally and with a cool demeanor that only Spock was capable of. “Though I don’t agree with your assumption that I destroyed this plant, and since there is no evidence from the tapes, I still want to apologize for what has transpired here.” He felt frustrated at once again being the bigger man, and coming forth with apologies that he wasn’t entitled to make.

There was not a hint of forgiveness on Sovik’s features. He only watched the pitiful way the captain was asking for forgiveness.

“I want to know if there is anything that my crew or I can do for you to compensate for this loss.” Jim wanted to roll his eyes, and instead closed them for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if said action occurred.

Sovik’s gaze moved towards Spock, who was standing at the desk beside McCoy, his eyes thoughtful and curious as to what the response would be. It stirred something inside Sovik--something between desperation and desire. He willed the emotions away from him.

“Apologies are unnecessary, Captain, as what has transpired here today cannot be reimbursed.” Sovik’s words were like hands, physically snapping Jim’s remaining strings of sanity. He had to shake his head in order to free himself from the burning anger he felt rising within him.

“Well,” Jim forced from his lips. “As a human being, I have the illogical need to apologize.”

“Indeed,” Sovik almost rolled his eyes. “And yet, do you see the Fo-weinvaksur returning to life, Captain?”

McCoy neared the two with a confused look on his face, his eyes staring daggers at the Vulcan standing rigidly in front of his good friend and captain. “How are you so sure it’s Jim who contaminated it?” He asked, his eyes glaring at the older Vulcan with rage.

“Because I have warned him of such things!” Sovik argued back, his tone unforgiving and rough, “I do not need to explain the evidence again for your incompetent doctor.” He was now addressing Jim with a heightened sense of hatred. If it were any greater Jim would have believed he would be thrown across the room by the Vulcan’s brutal strength. Luckily for them both, it hadn’t come to that.

The doctor almost laughed. He then neared the Vulcan in a predatory stance. “That all doesn’t seem too _logical,_ now does it, Sovik?” His tone was littered with a temper that only McCoy could muster. It was stern, it was sarcastic, and above all it was angry.

“Do not speak with me regarding logic,” Sovik snarled back at the doctor.

Before the scene could escalate any further, Spock stepped forward and calmly began to speak to Sovik, almost as though the other two men were not present.

“I grieve with thee over the loss of the Fo-weinvaksur, as well as the discoveries that have been lost along with it.” Spock bowed his head sorrowfully before raising it again to look Sovik in the eyes. “We will take full responsibility for this loss until we locate the precise offender. Until then, I will remove the mess, and run any necessary tests on the plant.”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

Sovik bowed his head at Spock’s words, finding them most appropriate. “I had planned on reporting this incident to Starfleet.” His eyes once again traced back towards Jim, unforgiving. “However, it is thanks to your professional and civil first officer that I will refrain from doing so.”

Jim was visibly shaking with rage. He couldn’t believe that Sovik was so obviously taken by Spock. Part of Jim wanted to yank Spock back behind him, and to take whatever punishment he would get from Starfleet. He wasn’t sure if he was angier about being blamed for a crime that he had clearly not committed, or for Sovik eye-fucking Spock. He was leaning more towards the latter.

“I will not report you to Starfleet, Captain.” Sovik’s tone was much more controlled and calm then it had been moments ago. “In fact, I will overlook these events if you refrain from visiting these quarters.”

“Sovik, we’ve already discussed that I must have access to every…” The captain’s words were cut off once again.

“You must have permission from me, and me alone to enter my lab.”

Jim literally clamped his teeth down over his tongue to stop himself from reminding Sovik that the Enterprise, and Starfleet, owned the lab and tools he was using. It did not belong to him in any sort of way, shape, or form.

“I must monitor your presence in the labs in order to validate that you are not causing disorder.” Sovik almost rolled his eyes, as if he were talking to a mere child.

That  request was worse than being locked out from the labs on his own ship. What Sovik was asking of Jim was enraging and almost humorous. He truly wanted Jim to ask him to enter an area of his own ship. He knew that the Vulcan wanted that power over him, to be able to make him pick and choose when he got to enter those rooms. It was enraging since Jim knew that he would be denied access multiple times if it was up to Sovik to decide.

Spock looked across the group at Jim, his eyes admiring him, as well as sympathising with him. It was that look that gave Jim a little kick he needed to make his decision.

It wasn’t a race for power with Sovik. In over a week, they would be free of him and his research team, and everything would be back to normal. Soon he wouldn’t have to look at the older Vulcan, or think about him walking around his ship, or his looking at Spock like he was some marvelous sight to gawk at (which he was, but only for the captain).

Still, even with this mind set, he was still angry. He didn’t like the idea of Sovik hating him so much, and desiring Spock. He didn’t like the fact that Sovik had blamed him for something that he had no intention of ever doing. He was feeling uneasy with the Vulcan in front of him--with his lies, his obvious emotions. The more he got to know him, the more he questioned if he was Vulcan.

“Fine,” Jim finally agreed, his eyes squinting slightly. “I will request permission from you at any hour, at any time necessary, and it must be granted,”

“If it is appropriate to do so,” Sovik spat back.

The two were locked in an intolerable gaze. Neither one able to break the look before the other. There was so much negative energy building between them that McCoy and Spock were convinced they could almost see it.

“It will be,” Jim grumbled back at him, finally stepping back from the Vulcan. He turned his attention back towards his two friends. “I want Scotty down here to check the camera,”

“Understood,” Spock replied, moving out of the room quickly.

Just as McCoy and Jim were about to exit the room, Sovik called out after them, his tone threatening.

“You are quite fortunate to have such a courteous first officer, Captain.” There was a hint of entertainment in his voice. “If not for him, you would have been stripped of your command.”

Jim clenched his hands into fists, his feet stopping suddenly. He was ready. This would be the moment. He would turn around, clock the disgusting Vulcan in the jaw and be stripped of his command. He would do it. He would lose it all for that one moment of relief.

Then he felt McCoy’s hand pat his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s not worth it,” McCoy mumbled quietly towards Jim.

It was true. It wasn’t worth it. Jim loved his crew, and his friends, but above all he adored the ship. The Enterprise was every captain’s dream. It was an honor to command and explore with her. There was no ship he ever felt more in sync with, and if he could, he would remain on the Enterprise for the remainder of his life. He couldn’t risk losing her, for McCoy, for his crew, and especially for Spock. If he left, what would become of Spock? Would another captain come along and understand him like he did?

After the night he shared with Spock, breathing in rhythm with him, feeling his Vulcan heart beating beneath his fingers, it was incredible. To think that the remainder of their five year mission could be filled with unforgettable moments like that made him shiver with excitement and anticipation. That was all he wanted at the moment, to hold his first officer, possibly play a round of chess, and simply speak with him. It was all Jim wanted to do these days, and he loved it.

Jim looked back towards Sovik, his expression calmer now that he had time to organize his thoughts. The feeling of Spock helped to give him strength to yield to logic and peace. He calmly nodded towards Sovik, a small smile rising over his lips. “That’s right, Sovik. We’re all really thankful for Commander Spock.” And with that McCoy and Jim left Sovik standing in the middle of the Fo-weinvaksur’s remains--alone, and seething with rage.

-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it, and let me know what you guys think!


	8. Seeing Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Id like to of course thank my amazing beta plaidshirtjimkirk who has looked over all over my stuff so far, and has honestly saved this story, and given me so much confidence to continue!! <333 Check out her stuff on AO3, and follow her on tumblr! She's the greatest. 
> 
> There are no Major warnings for this chapter, but a heads up for the following chapter.... ANGST ANGST ANGST!!! I truly hope you enjoy this chapter... and though I said there was no need for any warnings..... I do want to let all my readers know that I do believe in happy endings <3
> 
> LLAP friends!!

Seeing Stars

 

Scotty grunted as he pushed the camera head back into place, forcing the contraption together once again. He then studied it over one last time before looking down at his captain and first officer who were peering up towards him patiently. “This camera is the same,” he commented before stepping off the ladder.

Both Spock and Jim shared a glance with one another before Jim faced the chief engineer with a discouraged expression once again. “Is it working now, Scotty?”

The expression on Scotty’s face said it all. From what Jim had come to know of him, that look of disappointment was not directed at anybody else, but himself. As the chief engineer aboard the enterprise, Scotty felt an obligation to the ship, to keep her in perfect working condition, as well as to protect her at all costs. When he had this look of disappointment, it often meant he had failed in that in some way.

Jim could only respond with a sigh; however, Spock found it his duty as first officer to offer Jim the answer which Scotty had silently implied.

“I do not believe this unit is operational as well, Captain.” Spock raised an eyebrow up towards the camera on the wall.

Both the captain and the chief engineer looked towards Spock with an uncertain look, then began moving down the hall.

As it turned out, the camera in the labs on deck three were not the only ones that were inoperative. Just as the captain’s chair had been malfunctioning earlier that day, it seemed that the cameras were also defective as well. Such occurrences happened before. For example, at times the low class ships faced large sectors of negative energy, which rendered major electrical outlets inoperative. However, the Enterprise was an upscale ship, and from all of Jim’s years, he had never experienced such a phenomenon.

“Perhaps we encountered a negative pocket of energy,” Spock suggested just as Jim had been contemplating a similar scenario in his head.

Scotty looked towards the Vulcan, offended. “The Enterprise?” A forced chuckle escaped him, “Sir, I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“Me too,” Jim mumbled in agreement, feeling the way Spock’s eyes darted towards him. He didn’t need to look at him to know that they remained on him until he began speaking again. “And there was no signs of foul play on that camera?” Jim motioned back to the one they had now walked a great distance from.

“That’s the problem, Sir.” The look of disappointment grew into exponential guilt.

“That would support my theory of negative…” Spock was interrupted by Scotty’s confrontational tone.

“The Enterprise is a beauty, Sir.” The engineer looked back at Jim with confidence. “I do not believe in any energy draining phenomenon, Captain. Not on a ship like this.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Scotty before lowering it inexpressively. He stood stoically by Jim’s side, somewhat crossed by the fact that Scotty was taking to such lengths to argue his potential theory.

Spock’s attitude did not go unnoticed, and Jim turned to Scotty who was readily standing by the lift doors. “Well thanks for your help, Scotty. I would like a crew to look over every piece of equipment on this ship to assure that it is all functioning properly. If not, I want it reported, logged, and sent to Starfleet.” Jim’s hands came up to rub his eyes in exhaustion.

Scotty tilted his head as he looked over his obviously tired captain just as the lift doors opened. “Sir, perhaps you should take the remainder of the day off. You don’t look too good.”

“I’ll consider your recommendation, Mr. Scott. Thanks.” Jim nodded again at the chief engineer before the lift doors slid shut and Scotty was gone. Finally, Jim turned towards Spock and sighed. “Well?”

“Sir?” Spock questioned as he followed Jim’s lead down the hall. He never understood why humans consistently began sentences like that. He was uncertain as to what Jim was referring to.

“What do you think? You think my touching the plant killed it?” Jim questioned with one brow raised humorously.

Spock was quiet for a moment, causing Jim to feel his heart rate begin to increase. Why wasn’t Spock leaping to side with him? Did he actually believe in Sovik’s nonsense?

“Spock?” Jim questioned again, slowing down his pace so that he could see the Vulcan better. “You don’t think…”

“No, Captain,” Spock finally answered, his eyes looking at Jim apologetically. He then began walking again, which influenced Jim to pick up his pace to follow him.

“Then what?” Jim laughed uncomfortably for a moment, unsure as to why Spock was acting like this if he believed his innocence.

“I do not believe the plant was contaminated, nor do I believe it was sabotaged by one of our crew members or the research team.” Spock raised his eyebrow. “I believe that there is the possibility of third party presence that has caused harm to the Fo-weinvaksur, and has also disrupted our electrical equipment.”

“You think so?” Jim questioned, unsure of his argument.

“I am not certain, but I do believe the Enterprise might have encountered exotic matter,” Spock explained. “The plant functions with its environment and interacts with it. It is likely that the negative energy we passed through could have led the plant to its demise.”

“Makes sense,” Jim agreed, turning the corner with Spock. “However, I have another scenario I’d like to run by you if you don’t mind, Commander,”

Spock raised his eyebrow.

“What if it was Sovik who destroyed the plant? I think that’s most likely cause.” He looked Spock over, admiring the elegant way he walked down the hall.

The idea didn’t seem to go over well with Spock, as he exhaled roughly. Jim had to turn and face Spock to gain some understanding of the small outburst. “No?” he asked with a small smirk.

“Jim.” Spock stopped before the mess hall doors, scolding him with his eyes. “Do not suggest such things.”

“Why?” Jim’s features went lax, questioning why Spock would ever question a logical alternative like that.

“Sovik would not destroy the plant. He is Vulcan.” Spock’s tone went somewhat hollow. To Jim, he sounded unconvincing.

“Vulcans get violent too Spock.” He then saw Spock’s eyes dart over to him. “Besides, Sovik hasn’t really acted all that _Vulcan_ , now has he?”

Spock thought about Jim’s words for a moment, and he nodded slowly in agreement. He recalled the moments he had heard Sovik yelling, and the way his hands had trembled behind his back. “Nevertheless, I suggest that you refrain from placing blame on Sovik for this event.”

“But, Spock, if he did it, then maybe there’s something wrong with him. I mean, you’re right, Vulcans aren’t violent, so why would he do something like this?”

“Jim, I do not see immediate danger regarding Sovik. In fact, I see more reason to support that the Fo-weinvaksur detonated from the same cause as our energy failure aboard this ship.” He sounded sure of himself, which caused Jim to frown slightly. “Jim, by placing the blame upon Sovik, you risk his trust in the Federation. Accusing Sovik, whether he committed the crime or not, would not be logical.”

Just as Jim opened his mouth to respond, the ship-wide com began to echo.

“ _Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, contact the bridge. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, contact the bridge, please,_ ” Uhura’s voice broadcasted.

They immediately went to one of the intercoms on the right side of the hall. Jim pressed his finger into the unit, signalling the bridge. “Kirk here with Commander Spock. What is it, Uhura?”

“ _Captain, please report with commander Spock to the briefing room on deck six, to receive a call from Admiral Reid,”_ Uhura explained through the speaker smoothly.

“Alright, Lieutenant, inform him that we are on our way.” Jim released the button, and turned back down the hall from where he and Spock had just walked from.

“Most likely checking in on the RU-598 crew,” Jim guessed, entering the lift with Spock.

“Undoubtedly,” Spock agreed, looking towards his captain.

As they entered the lift, Jim gave a heavy sigh as he directed the lift to deck six. He looked toward Spock, who was already peering at him with a curious brow raised.

“I know what I’m going to hear from him,” Jim grumbled as he tightened his grip over the handlebar.

Spock nodded in agreement, obviously understanding the captain’s struggle. “I believe I am also aware of what the admiral will likely discuss this evening.”

Jim smiled warmly at his first officer, admiring the way Spock could say so little yet calm him so much. He was specifically glad that Spock had anticipated the same thing from this discussion as he did.

It didn’t take a psychic to know what their upcoming conversation would entail. Various members of the crew (especially Jim and Spock), had been answering to Starfleet on multiple occasions every day. It was beginning to become an irritant to them, considering they had other tasks to fulfill as the top two commanding officers of the ship. It would have been much less of a stress for them, had the conversations varied. Every time Jim had sat down in front of that screen, he was answering to the same few questions on the same few topics.

When they finally arrived, Jim greeted the security guards outside the door with a confident nod. He and Spock then entered, situating themselves in the chairs before the large screen with the Starfleet insignia blinking.

Finally, the symbol had faded to reveal Admiral Reid’s smug expression as he sat at a large desk, in front of another large Starfleet insignia mounted on the wall. When the transmission was finally clear and functioning, Reid gave the two men a large grin.  

“Captain Kirk!” The man greeted, raising both of his hands off the desk enthusiastically. As Jim recalled, Reid had always been an _emotional man_. During one of their brief shore leaves on Starbase 11. Reid had insisted on dining with the bridge crew and other Starfleet officials. When he had greeted them, he had insisted on shaking every officer’s hand, including Spock’s. Knowing the way Vulcans were about touching-- specifically on their hands-- Jim could only imagine the discomfort Spock had felt towards the gesture. As a human, even he felt as though he were being mentally assaulted by the unbearable grip of his superior officer.

“Admiral Reid, it’s good to hear from you again,” Kirk greeted pleasantly. It wasn’t that Reid was unfriendly or of annoyance, he was just an extremely passionate individual. It was most likely the reason why he had been assigned the duty of assuring that the RU-598 crew returned to Earth safely. He knew that Reid would ship himself out to their coordinates in a heartbeat if Jim ever reported anything amiss.

It was that exact fervor that made Reid so appropriate for the position of admiral, and not captain. Though Jim would describe himself as passionate and determined, he still believed himself to be rational, and he often shivered at the thought of working directly under a man as emotionally involved as Reid. As Jim had learned from Spock, to act on emotion alone was unwise, and that was exactly the type of man Reid was.

“As you Kirk, as you.” Reid grinned through the screen, his eyes then drifting to Spock seated on Jim’s right. “And Commander Spock,”

Spock bowed his head politely at the admiral.

“Now you probably know why I’m calling you, Kirk,” Reid began, playing with something on the desk that was out of Jim and Spock’s view from the position of the screen. It was just like Reid to have to divided his focus onto something else. He was an individual who was always moving, never stopping to rest or to think. Action, action, action.

“So, how are things?” Reid began, his tone of voice eager and excited. From the day they assigned the Enterprise with this mission, Reid had been bouncing in his big leather chair. It was thrilling for him to lead such an important mission for the Federation.

“Fairly smooth, Admiral.” Jim spoke sounding a bit uneasily.

“Fairly smooth?” The admiral questioned, “Nothing happened to that Renneral, right?” What was once a smile had now faded into a challenging glare, just one example of how quickly Reid was able to go from one high to another.

“We did have one incident with one of their research specimens.” The last bit of his sentence trailed slightly.

“An incident?” Reid banged the table with his fist, “Commander Spock, explain.”

Spock glanced over towards Jim, his eyes hiding the adoration he usually shared with him since they were in their superior officer’s presence. When he returned his attention to the screen he quietly cleared his throat and began to explain. “The RU-598 research team had boarded a newly discovered plant called the Fo-weinvaksur. It’s a plant that is thirty percent carbon based, forty-three point six percent …”

“Captain, what happened to this plant?” Reid was now looking at Jim, almost as coldly as Sovik had done so many times before.

“We are unsure of the cause, Sir.” Jim began to explain to the Admiral, “I was called to the labs to see it had been ripped apart.”

Reid’s eyes went from Jim to Spock’s within seconds, giving him an equally as critical gaze. “What happened, Commander?”

“As the captain has stated, we are unsure of the cause at the moment. We believe that there is a possibility that the ship entered some sort of exotic matter field. This may be what had affected the plant, as well as caused a number of system malfunctions,” Spock answered confidently.

“System malfunctions?” Reid questioned, giving the captain a look of true rage. “Captain! You are supposed to be protecting these people, if anything is wrong with the ship…”

“We have just discovered the failures now, Sir,” Jim explained, “A report should be coming in within the next thirty minutes.”

“Kirk, if your ship is experiencing failures, you should be on course for the nearest starbase,” Reid stressed.

“The only difficulties that the Enterprise is experiencing is with our security tapes, and some interior ship communication systems. None of which are too serious. My chief engineer is looking over everything now,” Jim explained, his patience short.

“I see.” Reid leaned back into his large red chair, and peered down towards his desk. “So there was no sign of sabotage?”

“No, Sir,” Spock answered, his hands curling together in his lap.

Jim added, “I assure you we are doing all we can to get to the bottom of it.”

“You better, Kirk,” Reid grumbled. “You _know_ how important this project is to the Federation. We are counting on your ship to transport all the members of the team here safely… but possibly even more importantly, that Renneral must make it here safely.”

It took all of Jim’s effort not to roll his eyes. He knew that it would not appear professional to do so in the presence of such a highly respected officer. But it was hard not to. This wasn’t the first time he had heard that exact statement made. ‘ _You know how important this project is to the Federation.’_ He wasn’t sure why so many people felt the need to remind him. He knew of the RU-598’s importance to Starfleet, and he didn’t feel as though he were threatening that concept at all.

“I do, in fact, understand the importance of the RU-598 group to the Federation, Sir,” Jim stressed, trying to keep his soothing charm. “Everything is fine here Admiral.”

Air hit against the mic in front of Reid’s face, causing the speakers to transmit an ugly, scratching noise. “Captain Kirk…” He shook his head calmly compared to his previous tone. “I cannot stress to you how important this Renneral is to us.” His eyes then acknowledged Spock who was sitting up straighter now that Jim was being chewed up. “You too, Commander.”

“Sir, Captain Kirk is correct in stating that there is no distress aboard this ship regarding the RU-598 group. Aside from the destruction of the Fo-weinvaksur, of course,” Spock explained, looking over towards Jim wearily.

“Whatever the circumstances are there, I want to let you know now, that we cannot lose this.” Reid leaned forward into the camera. “Do I make myself clear? Assist them if they require it, give them your finest champagne, do whatever it takes to make them pleased with the Federation.”

“Understood.” Jim and Spock almost said completely in harmony. They tried not to look at one another.

“Good.” Reid sighed, finally leaning back in his chair. Now that he was at a proper distance from the screen, Jim and Spock automatically relaxed their muscles. “I’ll be checking in again with you both. And I’m going to say it one more time. We need this Renneral.”

After sharing their goodbyes, the admiral finally disappeared from the screen and it went blank. Both Spock and Jim turned only their eyes to one another. No doubt they were both thinking the same thing at that moment. _‘Who does he think he’s talking to?_ ’ Did the Federation really think they couldn’t handle transporting a group of scientists across the galaxy? Had the Enterprise crew not proven themselves worthy of any task the Federation could throw at them?

Jim pushed himself out of his chair and turned to leave, Spock following close behind as usual. And without saying a word, the two of them left the room.

-

 

Yeoman Rand’s gaze followed the Vulcan with the dark robes, moving elegantly through the halls, with a less than elegant expression. His eyebrows had furrowed, a wrinkle outlined over his forehead, and his eyes giving death stares to those who passed directly in his vision. Nobody dared to cross him.

Sovik felt no need to weave in and out of the crowed of crewmembers, since they seemed to ‘ _graciously_ ’ move out of the way for him. He simply moved forward and directly to his designated target.

What felt like a gentle bump to Sovik, ended up being a rough nudge to a passing yeoman. As she turned to face the Vulcan, her heart had dropped into her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered, moving backwards before sliding out of his view quickly.

It meant nothing to Sovik; in fact, he didn’t even hear the woman speak. He simply strode toward the end of the hall where he reached two familiar officers he had met the previous day.

“Excuse me,” Sovik greeted unenthusiastically. “I require assistance in locating the recreational room.”

Sulu and Chekov looked at one another, both of them feeling slightly uncomfortable in the presence of the Vulcan. It wasn’t that he had done or said anything to offend them during his time on the ship, but they had heard things from others, like about how he spoke to the captain or how he ignored crew members when they spoke to him.

What was really disconcerting about the Vulcan, was his silence, and the way he glared into other people’s eyes. He would stare as if there was nothing behind the fixed gaze. No life. No thoughts. Nothing.

However, Sulu and Chekov had their orders directly from the captain and Admiral Reid. They were to be as gracious as possible to the RU-598 group, and assisting them in any way possible so that they were to feel (as Reid had put it) _‘at home’._

“Of course,” Sulu finally answered, finishing the last sip of his coffee which he was enjoying with his good friend. He then tossed the empty cup into a nearby disposal unit. “It’s right down this way,”

Just as Sulu stepped out before the Vulcan, Sovik backed away from him, as though he were deeply offending him by approaching him. He narrowed his eyes toward the man. “I was not clear in my request. I require your assistance to direct me to the recreational area, not to escort me.”

It took seconds for Chekov and Sulu to find each other’s eyes, both of them filled with surprise and bewilderment at the older Vulcan’s comment. They had expected something displeasing from the Vulcan, but nothing so outwardly offensive.

When Chekov had first met Spock, he had trouble meshing with him. He would occasionally start conversations with him, joke with him, attempt to laugh with him, but he quickly learned that such gestures were apparently foreign to him. If he could be completely honest, he would go so far to say that upon meeting Spock, he desperately disliked the Vulcan.

However, Jim desperately _liked_ Spock, and if there was anybody aboard this ship that Chekov admired the most, it was his dear Captain Kirk. Even before boarding the Enterprise, Chekov had been ecstatic to meet the infamous Kirk. He had heard all about his adventures, his courageous acts of bravery, and to see his idol spending all his off time with an individual like Spock really made Chekov question. Perhaps there was more to Spock then what first met the eyes.

It was plain to see that this was, indeed, the case. Spock was in fact much more pleasant than he had initially given him credit for. When he looked into Sovik’s sinister gaze, he realized that there was something extremely comforting about the Enterprise’s Vulcan. Though he was emotionally detached, he was much more sympathetic to others when compared to Sovik. Aside from some annoying displays of logic, Spock was always acting on the best interest of the crew, placing every living soul aboard the Enterprise before his own. He now understood better than ever how Jim managed to spend all his off time with the Vulcan. He was a truly admirable individual.

“Down the hall on the first left, three doors down on the right.” Chekov finally decided to answer for his slack-jawed friend, who was completely stunned as to how to respond to such a blatantly rude remark.

Sovik did not acknowledge them for their time, nor did he offer any form of appreciation for their efforts. He simply took the directions he was given, and was out of their sight within seconds.

Sulu finally closed his mouth, raising both of his brows at Chekov in disbelief. “I cannot believe it.”

Chekov did understand quite well. In fact, from his admiration towards the captain, he was able to smell the wretched attitude of the Vulcan from miles away. If Jim couldn’t find a commendable trait in him, then there was none to behold.

As Sovik turned the corner, he gently bumped into a tall slender figure, wearing a blue science tunic. When he finally collected himself enough to recognize the individual, the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Commander Spock.” His greeting was somewhat devious.

Spock’s dark eyes turned to look into his own. Sovik took a moment to admire the glossy black bangs that complimented the arch of his brows perfectly. There was nothing he desired more than to run his hands over those handsome features, up through the strands of his hair, and tug-- tug his head back while he tore the tunic off of his body. There was _nothing_ he desired more.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. If Sovik could have anything he desired, he would have tugged that magnificent bunch of hair down the hall, find the captain, and mercilessly fuck the Vulcan for his precious _Jim_ to see. That was what he desired most of all.

“Sir,” Spock greeted in return, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“Might I inquire as to what you are currently working on?” Sovik questioned, looking at the PADD, firmly grasped in the younger Vulcan’s hands. He looked over the smooth skin there, and admired it silently.

Spock looked down at the PADD, then slowly brought it behind his back with his other hand. He stood there stoically as he responded, “I am currently off work hours Sovik.” Spock’s tone was somewhat disappointed, though Sovik could not understand the reason, nor did he particularly care to find out.

“You appear distressed,” Sovik pointed out, tilting his head slightly, and trying his best to express concern towards the Vulcan.

“I am not,” Spock replied. “Distress is an emotion in which I am incapable of expressing.”

“Of course,” Sovik nodded. “However, you seem convinced that Vulcans do not experience difficulties. To experience distress is not _unVulcan_. It is rather how the distress is dealt with that separates it from a human emotion, to something more logical.” The two Vulcans, eyes met.

Spock’s brows raised gently, expressing his understanding of Sovik’s words. After lowering them, he cleared his throat, and nodded. “Quite correct, Sir.”

“Then I shall repeat my previous inquiry,” Sovik uttered warmly. “Is there something distressing you?”

Spock’s eyes turned away from Sovik, and met with a passing crew member who batted her eyelashes flirtatiously in his direction. He took a moment to consider the gesture, and discern the significance of it. Once he concluded it was a mere emotional expression, he then reverted his attention back to the conversation he was not entirely comfortable remaining in.

“I am not distressed,” Spock reiterated politely, looking towards Sovik graciously. “Seeing as it is nearing late hours, I am naturally feeling quite fatigued. Aside from that, I am adequate.”

“Of course.” Sovik looked down towards Spock’s sleek regulation boots. He admired the way they always seemed to shine, as though Spock had taken them to his quarters every few hours to buff them up. Though the sight of those perfectly aligned boots were quite pleasing, he wished he could see the feet that resided within their confines. He wanted to feel the undoubtedly smooth skin there, and to feel Spock’s toes curl from pleasure.

Spock looked down the hall somewhat impatiently. Sovik could feel eagerness in the Vulcan and wondered where and what he was up to.

“I must apologize for my actions earlier, Spock,” Sovik began as he peered deeper into the dark eyes he had been admiring for so long.

“To which actions are you referring?” Spock asked, raising his eyebrow quizzically. Sovik had managed to reclaim his attention quickly.

“The actions between your captain and myself.” Sovik nearly sighed, but he managed to hold it in. “I did not wish to appear sensitive, however, I had warned Captain Kirk of his actions. The Fo-weinvaksur was a treasure to the RU-598 group.”

“We are aware,” Spock insisted, his eyes looking over Sovik’s cold features.

“It was inappropriate for me to raise my voice.” Sovik continued to apologize sincerely, his mind still somewhere in the gutter with Spock. His eyes roamed over the exposed areas of Spock’s body.

Spock did not try to reassure Sovik otherwise of his claims. It was absolutely true that to raise his voice in such a way was unnecessary. As a matter of fact, there were multiple things that were unnecessary about what had transpired between Sovik and his captain.

When there was no response from Spock, Sovik felt anger ball up deep within him. He curled his hands into fists and tightly pressed them into his back. He tried dreadfully to hold himself together, to not allow himself to break now. This was not the time, nor was it the place.

“Spock,” Sovik continued through the silence. “I only raised my tone of voice due to the fact that your captain was inconsiderate to my studies. The Fo-weinvaksur was a significant discovery for our research, and it was most unfortunate to have lost it to such careless causes.”

“Sovik,” Spock then interrupted. “I have researched the cause of the Fo-weinvaksur’s death.”

Sovik’s heart suddenly dropped. He swallowed roughly as he tightened his hands even more at the thought of possibly being figured out. What if Spock had recovered the tapes of what had truly happened in the labs that evening? How Sovik had began pleasing himself beneath the table, and the aggressive display of passion that had ultimately taken the life of that plant? Sovik nodded nervously.

“I have confidence in your conclusions, Spock.” Sovik’s hands trembled slightly behind him, as he attempted to raise his eyebrows thoughtfully at him.

“I have concluded that the most likely possibility is that whatever affected our electrical equipment-- theorized to have been caused by a pocket of negative energy-- had disturbed the Fo-weinvaksur,” Spock explained effortlessly. “Therefore, I find it unlikely that Captain Kirk had anything to do with this unfortunate incident.”

Sovik clenched his jaw at the sound of Jim’s name. He loathed the man to a level in which he was sure Spock would never comprehend. It wasn’t that Spock was a Vulcan which made it difficult, but that he also had a deep affection for the captain. That much was obvious. Why would a Vulcan as flawless as Spock, be so infatuated with such a weak and illogical creature such as the captain? Why would he throw logic away just to withhold affection from a _human_?

‘ _Because his blood is tainted just as the captain’s,’_ Sovik reminded himself, as his eyes roamed over Spock’s midsection. He glanced over the shapely figure and almost groaned hungrily. He wanted it. He wanted all of it.

“I must admit,” Sovik began speaking once again, only this time his voice was even more pleasant than it had been earlier. “I was surprised to see you in this corridor alone. It is not often that I see you alone outside my lab.”

 _‘They are not your labs,_ ’ Spock had the unnecessary need to inform Sovik, just as Jim had done earlier. However, that would be distasteful towards Sovik, and whether he was a part of the RU-598 crew or not, Spock always endeavored to be kind to others.

“I am often occupied with my work…” Spock began to offer as reason to his constant presence with others.

“No,” Sovik interrupted. “I intended to imply that you are typically accompanied by the captain.” His friendly tone dropped momentarily on the last word.

Spock paused for a moment before accepting this. He had first tried to distinguish the intended meaning of Sovik’s words, and then decided that it was merely an observation. Observations were a statement of fact and so Spock simply nodded. “This may be true.”

As if there had been a trigger word, Sovik tensed at the sound of Jim’s voice calling down the hall behind Spock. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, and when he fully approached the both of them, he gave Sovik a forced smirk.

“Sovik,” Jim greeted, looking back towards Spock with a greater smile beaming over his face.

It was more than obvious how the captain felt for his first officer. He had rarely seen him without Spock somewhere in close proximity. It was frustrating to have to compete with someone like Jim--someone who had such power over the ship as well as who he desired. He already had the advantage of being his superior officer, as well as his friend for a number of years.  

It was no surprise that Jim had joined them. Right when he felt as if he were getting closer to Spock or possibly getting the chance to speak with him on a deeper level, the dreaded captain would always appear, often times out of thin air. There to distract the Vulcan, shield him, and of course take him off somewhere else where Sovik could not follow. It was frustrating being blocked at every turn by the _infamous_ Kirk. But Sovik could not let this go on, and he desired more than ever, to strangle this man with his bare hands. He wished to gain the satisfaction he had gained from the Fo-weinvaksur’s death.

Spock visibly shivered. Both Sovik and the captain’s eyes met with his for a moment. Spock appeared to be extremely bothered by something. Both of his eyes were tightly shut, and his brows lowered.

“Spock?” Jim asked, laying a hand on his shoulder protectively. The gesture was unnecessary in Sovik’s point of view. He understood the action as some sort of challenge that the captain was offering, as if he had laid his hands on Spock just to let him know that he could.

But he couldn’t… or at least that’s what Sovik decided.

“Captain, you are likely needed elsewhere. I will tend to Commander Spock,” he offered, his tone somewhat more forgiving to the human as an attempt to gain his trust.

“That’s alright Sovik,” Jim countered with an aggravated look on his face. “I’ll take him to sit down.” Jim then turned his attention to the ill-looking Spock who was placing a finger to his temple in an attempt to ease the pain he was clearly experiencing. “Are you ok?” Jim softly asked, easing his hand over his shoulder in support, and raising another to gently touch his head.

“You will only make matters worse if you touch him,” Sovik insisted, his eyes in thin slits of fury now.

“It’s fine,” Jim stressed, his hand now meeting with the flaccid one on Spock’s leg. “Do you need Bones?” he asked, hoping that speaking with him would inspire some form of recovery or at least for the Vulcan to speak back.

Spock shook his head, and straightened his posture slightly, only to fold back over from a sudden flash of discomfort in his head. “I wish to sit,” Spock mumbled in a barely audible tone.

Just as Spock had requested a seat, Sovik neared the Vulcan and began speaking once again. “As a human you are incapable of assisting him.”

That had definitely caught Jim’s attention. He had at first behaved as if Sovik was not even there, like it had just been only Spock with him as he wished. However, Sovik seemed to reach something within Jim that bothered him greatly--as if he had snapped another of Jim’s remaining strings of sanity.

“Excuse me?” Jim asked, his eyes narrowing on Sovik. He desperately tried to keep his tone of voice calm and collected for fear that passing crew members would hear. But, it was fruitless against the enraging attitude of the older Vulcan in front of him.

“You cannot assist him like another Vulcan can.” Sovik seemed to growl at him, taking another step closer into their direction. “He requires an expert touch.” He had spoken in more of a hungry tone then he had anticipated.

Jim’s expression changed instantaneously from being somewhat accepting, to completely stone cold.

“I’m sorry. I can’t assist my first officer because I’m a human?” Jim gawked in disbelief.

“You cannot provide a Vulcan with what he truly requires. There are things humans are incapable of offering that a Vulcan can,” Sovik explained smoothly, his eyes hardening over Jim’s features.

It was clear to Jim now that there had been a double meaning littering the conversation. What they spoke about had little to do with their ability to nurse Spock back to life. And that really bothered him. Though Jim felt as if he had successfully deciphered every word the older Vulcan had muttered, his mind was stuck on one of the utterances, _‘He requires an expert touch.’_ He shivered.

“I wish to sit.” Spock groaned, holding his head in his hands, almost clawing at the temples. Both the older Vulcan and the captain noticed this instantly and simultaneously reached to help him.

Jim had touched Spock’s shoulder first, but Sovik had went for a more vulnerable area. He firmly grasped Spock by the wrist and gave the half-Vulcan a needy, and somewhat violent tug, sending Jim into a fit of frustration, and anger.

“Thanks, I can handle it Sovik,” Jim stressed, and though he was responsible enough to form his words politely, the tone in which he delivered it was less than polite.

Without asking or even warning the wobbling Vulcan, Sovik pulled Spock towards him and into the opposite direction from where Jim and Spock were desiring to go.  

“Please,” Spock whimpered, lamely attempting to pull his hand from Sovik’s grasp. He felt as though he did not have the energy to remove it. He questioned if either Sovik or Jim had noticed his attempt of freedom, or whether or not they heard his plea. At the moment, he couldn’t even manage to hear himself.

Through Spock’s discomfort, it was Jim who noticed his body language. He gave him a panicked look before he forced Sovik’s hand off his first officer. He glared daggers towards him, wanting to shove Sovik against a wall somewhere and detain him for putting his gritty hands on his Spock.

Jim pushed the offending hand away with force, and at this time, he noticed the small group of ensigns looking onto the scene with interest. It took only one determined glare for Jim to get the group moving along.

“Do not,” Jim growled, nearing Sovik heatedly. He placed his body between the two Vulcans protectively, his eyes glaring unforgivingly into the Vulcan’s eyes. “And I don’t care if you are going to report this or not… Do not lay a hand on my first officer without his permission. In fact, do not lay a hand on any of my crew members without their permission. Do I make myself clear?”

There was no response from Sovik. His eyes sank deeper into Jim’s as his hands twitched behind his back in an attempt to hold them back from tearing the tongue out from the captain’s mouth. He looked slightly down towards the human, feeling confident in his abilities to take him to the ground if necessary.

Spock leaned into the wall behind him, his eyes lazily half opened. He could feel Jim’s grip on his shoulder tightening, and he felt secure to close his eyes.

“I’ll walk you sickbay, Spock,” Jim whispered, helping him straighten out. He placed his hand underneath his arm and helped the Vulcan shift his weight onto him. After successfully standing Spock up next to him, he brought Spock’s arm around his waist so that he had something to clutch onto in case he needed it.

“I do not require medical treatment, Jim,” Spock managed to mumble back at him. “I require my quarters.” His voice sounded drowsy and rough.

“Are you sure?” Jim asked, looking at the colour returning to Spock’s face.

Spock nodded, turning his head to look into Jim’s eyes. He didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch of his lips told Jim that Spock was being sincere, and the look brought a smile to his own lips.

Before leaving Sovik, Jim turned his head to give Sovik one last glare. He wanted to give him some sort of words of departure. He wanted to say _something_ that would leave Sovik feeling calm about the situation, possibly to stop him from reporting any false information.

Jim just turned away. He couldn’t find words of forgiveness or comfort after such an inappropriate display. In fact, if the situation was brought forth to Reid, Jim was prepared to inform Starfleet of Sovik’s insensitive actions during his stay on the Enterprise. There was only so much patience Jim had, and he was running short. Jim feared if he attempted to say anything to Sovik at that moment, it would escalate, and he would not be able to control his actions.

Right now was not the time to start a disagreement with Sovik, not when Spock was cradling his head in his hands. Spock’s safety and security came before Jim’s pleasure, which was to sock Sovik in the jaw.

Sovik watched as Jim and Spock walked down the hall, Jim speaking quietly to Spock, and Spock answering by either nodding, or shaking his head. It was infuriating to the older Vulcan. He could feel himself shaking with rage.

He turned aggressively, stomping his way down the hall. He dashed passed the ensigns who had been listening from afar, nearly knocking one of them into the wall behind her.

As he finally returned to deck five, where the RU-598 research crew’s quarters existed, he quickly entered his own. He didn’t see Rebecca at Joseph’s side, or her wide eyes looking down the hall at him, a PADD brought up to cover her lips. He had been in such a rage he didn’t even hear her call out his name.

“Sovik!” She tried hard to yell while still keeping her voice down so that no one passing would hear of this. She started to walk over to the frenzied Vulcan, but her slow pace had steadily increased as she got closer. Joseph attempted to grab her by the arm, but she couldn’t even turn her head to tell him to let her. She simply snaked her hand away and ran towards Sovik.

Sovik was inside his quarters within seconds, Rebecca closely following him inside.

“Sovik, what’s wrong? Don’t act like this!” She finally exclaimed as she engaged the privacy lock.

The Vulcan’s eyes were even more distant than they had been earlier in the hall. When Rebecca peered into them, she could have sworn she saw her reflection. They had been so incredibly dark and hard that she could not manage to see beyond those black pupils.

His hands trembled on the desk in front of him, clawing mercilessly. “Leave,” he hissed in a demanding tone of voice. He could not face her like this, and so he turned his hand down to the floor.

Rebecca took a deep breath and unclenched her fists, trying hard to emanate positive energy to the distressed Vulcan before her. She hated to see him like this, so out of control, so different from who he had been. She could feel her heart cringe with despair. This was not what Sovik had wanted. This was not who he had intended on being.

“What happened?” She tried a calmer tone. Perhaps if she carried herself in a loving, tender manner, Sovik would some how unlock that sweet, courageous, and peaceful man he had once been-- the one he had imprisoned ever since his bondmate had so tragically departed.

Sovik rushed his arms across the table, clearing it of all its possessions, including a tub of Renneral he had been working on during his _off_ time. When the pieces came crashing to the floor, Rebecca felt herself stepping back. There was no way she could bring him out of it this time. Not when he was so far gone.

“Sovik, please. Let me get help!” She begged, wanting to reach out and touch him caringly. She wanted to hold him like she would hold a child who had just fallen. But, she could not risk it.

His eyes were flame, his heart was flame. There were only two ways to slake the inferno he felt rising in his blood. Both were incredibly violent options, but options none the less.

Sovik fell to the ground, tossing the objects he had just finished dropping to the ground. A glass figurine shattered against the far wall, and Rebecca felt that was her cue to start heading back to her caring fiancé in the hall.

She wanted to tell everyone. If she could, she would make her way to the bridge and make a ship wide announcement for every living soul to avoid Sovik at all costs. However, what would that say about the RU-598 crew? What would that say about Sovik?

She had respected Sovik, as well as his deceased bondmate, T’Leia. She honored them to the degree that she would never do that to their project. Rebecca knew how much it meant to Sovik, and frankly, to her as well. It had been far too long developing the Renneral, and without Sovik they would not be able to do anything further.

“What can I do?” She asked from the doorway, facing the wall so that she could spare herself the image of the genius splayed out on the floor, throwing his fists in a violent rage. “I will do anything, Sovik.”

“I need,” Sovik answered quickly, obviously speaking through his teeth. “ _Spock._ ”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. She had not been expecting that. The first officer of the Enterprise was a very private man. And though she knew that Sovik had become very fond of him, she could not fully understand why. Why there was such a deep fascination with him, Rebecca would never know.

Regardless, what she had thought of the commander was not what mattered. Her body literally stiffened at the thought of Spock in the hands of Sovik. Nobody deserved that, not when he was like this. She had almost been in that position. Sovik’s heavy frame, pressing her own into the sand.

After that encounter, she could have sworn that her body was burned from the impact of her skin against the smouldering hot sand, as well as the scorching heat of Sovik’s flesh. That was all she could remember--was the unbearable heat.

However, this was not Sovik. This _thing_ before her was not who she had worked under for all this time. Though he physically looked like Sovik, she knew it could not be him. This was something else.

There was nothing Rebecca hated about Spock, and especially his kind and charming captain. But there was also nothing Rebecca would give to avoid the life that would follow another encounter with Sovik. She was engaged to be married, and she knew that she would not be so lucky against Sovik this time. He had seemed to become more violent and angry then he had been before. No, she would not survive after an incident like that, and her relationship and future with Joseph would surely not last as well.

With a heavy heart, she turned towards the door, not saying anything in response to Sovik’s request. Before she left, Sovik made one last threat that she could not manage to face him after.

“Captain Kirk,” he huffed out heatedly, “must die.”

-

 

Jim sat on Spock’s bed, his hand going over his sheets in perfect circles. He had thought at one time that his own blankets from Cerulean were the most elegant and comfiest in the galaxy, but he had clearly never encountered one from Vulcan. He knew that it was not an electrical blanket of any kind, since it did not adopt the properties of one, but he could feel heat rise within it the longer he kept his hand pressed against it.

His thoughts made him smile. He envisioned the way Spock went around the ship, tending to his duties, and then returning to the warmth of his quarters, snuggling under the blanket. In that way him and his first officer were very alike, he imagined. With covers this cozy, he wouldn’t blame his friend.

As well, the ship was quite cold for a Vulcan. This was why whenever Jim and Spock spent their time together, he increased the temperature of whatever room they decided on. It made him unhappy to think that Spock was in any form of discomfort. He knew for a fact that Spock required a long sleeved shirt under his tunic, just to combat the brisk environment in some way. Though Spock had told Jim on numerous occasions that it was not all that serious or at all life threatening, Jim still could not accept this life for his first officer.

Jim looked around the room, admiring the ancient Vulcan artifacts that decorated the space in a very organized and orderly fashion. It had been a while since he had visited Spock’s quarters… in fact, he couldn’t recall a moment when he ever had remained here like this. When he would visit, it was usually for a very short amount of time, and he never sat on Spock’s bed like he was doing now.

The door to the bathroom finally opened, and Spock was holding a folded pile of his uniform clothes in his hands. Jim felt his heart race in his chest at the sight of his beautiful Vulcan friend wearing his traditional meditation robes.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jim asked, his eyes appreciating the sight of Spock’s robe skidding across the floor as he moved to the dresser to lay his clothes inside.

Spock shook his head, “You do not have to. I will not be able to meditate until I have relieved my mind of all unnecessary activity.” He turned to face Jim’s thankful expression. “Do you wish to stay?”

Jim smirked at Spock, wanting more than anything to bring the Vulcan down on top of him and to simply look into those eyes. He wanted to prove Sovik wrong, and to give Spock all he could give, regardless of his species. Even though he was human, he could still provide for Spock what he needed.

“I’ll stay a little bit. You need your rest, and I should probably go get something to eat before I go to bed myself,” Jim explained, looking across the room at his ill friend.

Spock made his way to the bed, sitting on the open space on Jim’s left side. Both of them were quiet for a moment.

“I want you to visit McCoy first thing in the morning.” Jim sighed, bringing his hand to touch Spock’s knee. He knew it was not the time for any major steps in their relationship, with Spock sick and all, but he did want to show him that he could offer the human half of him some physical support during these times.

It came to no surprise to Jim when Spock shook his head. “I will be functional tomorrow morning, Jim. I believe that I require sleep and meditation. After I do both, I shall be re…”

“But you keep saying that Spock. How much meditation do you need?” Jim had cut him off, releasing his hand from Spock’s leg.

“I believe due to my added duties regarding the RU-598 crew, I will be requiring more meditation time.” It was the only theory Spock had to offer at the moment. When he saw Jim’s eyes look unconvinced at him, he too exhaled tiredly. “I will see to it that I visit the doctor in the near future, Jim.”

The captain smiled, standing up off the bed and turning to face Spock’s drowsy eyes. “Lay down.”

Spock looked up at Jim, his eyelids heavy. He tried to appear as though there was nothing the matter with him, but he still looked to be completely drained and somewhat out of it.

Unlike what Jim expected, there was no argument, and Spock laid himself down onto the bed, moving over slightly to give Jim room to sit where he had been once again. He peered at the captain before closing his eyes again. “Sit down.” He mocked Jim’s commanding tone.

Jim chuckled as he took to his spot once again. Once he was seated, he could feel Spock’s hand rest on top of his own. From the touch, he could feel the warmth of Spock’s body, as well as the scab of the cut Spock had received days ago. Clearly, it had not healed.

“How is your hand?” Jim asked, lifting it as he inspected it. It definitely appeared to be healed over better than it was, but what was left of it was still quite alarming. It was still dark green, and hard with dried blood. He felt sorry for his injured Vulcan, and as gently as he could possibly manage, he ran his finger over the length of it.

Spock stirred slightly, opening one eye to look at Jim. He then closed it once again. “Adequate.”

Jim smirked, lightly massaging the rest of his hand tenderly. “You are over worked,” he added, his eyes never leaving the peacefulness that had taken over Spock’s face. His skin somehow managed to become softer, and more delicate. It was becoming overwhelming to touch him.

“I am not,” Spock whispered shortly.

The only logical reaction for Jim was to roll his eyes. It was clear to Jim that Spock was working harder than ever. Sovik had made it his sworn duty to catch him during every moment he was resting, and to interrupt their time together. Even when Jim ordered Sovik to stop, he still found ways to find Spock when he was alone, and sucker him into helping him. If Sovik had been such a genius researcher, then why had he required assistance from Spock so often? Jim felt suspicious.

He looked across the room again as he thought of the possibilities, when he noticed the Vulcan lute in its holder, mounted on the wall. He gave the instrument a soft smile, and imagined the sound of it, echoing in the quiet room around them.

The hand Spock had rested across the robes covering his chest, lifted against Jim’s back, and then finally planted itself on his shoulder. Spock gave it an affectionate squeeze, all while his eyes were closed.

“Hey, be careful,” Jim laughed, remembering the very few times he had experienced a neck pinch first hand. It was not a painful experience as much as it was just uncomfortable-- more like a moment of paralysation, where every joint, muscle and function in the body seized up and remained rock hard. Then just as everything turned black, every inch of the body would then become flaccid and inoperable.

A small twitch came across Spock’s lips, making Jim feel glad that he could raise his sick friend’s spirits somehow. He released Spock’s hand from his and collected the other that had touched his shoulder, and then began applying another massage to that one.

“When did you learn to play the lute?” He asked, finding himself still thinking about those beautiful notes he had heard Spock play on occasion. A year ago, Spock had often brought the lute into the recreational room to practice and to perform. It had been early on in their friendship when he had done that, and so Jim assumed that he had taken the place of the lute in Spock’s life. Instead of strumming his time away with it, he instead shared it to play chess or talk.

“When I was very young, Jim,” Spock answered, his voice becoming weak with exhaustion. “My grandfather had taught me, as well as my father.”

That had now become another image for Jim to smile at. Picturing his stoic, Vulcan friend as a child, holding the large stringed instrument and learning to play... it made Jim’s hand tighten over Spock’s.

He wondered what Spock looked like as a child. What were his interests? What were his favourite foods? Was he always as aggressively logical as he was now? And though Spock would have disagreed with him, he wondered if Spock was emotional as a child, just as he was when he was young? There were so many questions Jim was aching to ask him. Yet, it would all be revealed to him in time, he was sure. Spock never enjoyed expressing things of the past, but he was certain that soon enough he would understand everything Spock had gone through.

“Good for you,” Jim mumbled as he brought Spock’s hand closer to his chest. He watched Spock allow it to go willingly, and it made Jim feel sad that his most cherished friend was feeling this way.

He could see a slow rising and falling of his chest, and Jim took that as his cue to leave. There was nothing more he could do here but watch the Vulcan sleep, and though the thought was tempting, he decided to give his first officer some privacy.

As gently as he possibly could, Jim placed Spock’s hand over top of the moving chest, and he gave it an affectionate tap before running his thumb over it. He expected the night going much differently… perhaps a game of chess, followed by an intimate dinner, and he was hoping from there, he would build up the courage to get even closer.

“Spock?” Jim whispered, just making sure that his friend was sleeping. When Spock didn’t respond, Jim took that as affirmation. The gentle breathing reminded him of the one he heard from Spock the night before, when they had fallen asleep in the botany room.

Jim reached under Spock’s body, and dragged the blanket out from under him, having to slightly tilt him off of it. Jim was not surprised at how light he was. Jim had carried his first officer on multiple occasions, in every position. He had thrown him over his shoulder, carried him on his back, around his neck, the bridal position. Spock was a fairly light individual, which Jim found quite strange considering he had the strength to literally tear him apart if he felt it.

Once the blanket was released, Jim softly laid it over the slender figure, sleeping peacefully. Before fully covering him, Jim took one last look at the elegant black robe he admired so much. He then covered him, and without thinking, ran his fingers over Spock’s bangs. “Good night.”

Spock’s face was so serene and peaceful, even when he turned onto his side. There was no distress, no discomfort, he simply clutched the blanket tighter, and brought it closer to himself, absorbing the heat.

It was so unlike Spock to fall asleep in front of others, yet this had been the second time in a row that it had happened. Jim was beginning to feel alarmed about Spock’s condition, yet he knew that Spock required this sleep, and to wake him would not be beneficial. He would see to it that Spock saw McCoy in the morning, and make it an order if need be.

He didn’t understand why Spock had avoided McCoy so often. It seemed that every visit to sickbay had to be commanded. Jim had never felt that way himself. He never purposely avoided McCoy; if he ever missed an appointment it was usually due to his busy schedule.

Before Jim left completely, he turned to face his Vulcan friend one last time, and gave him a smile. He wanted to go back to his friend’s side and curl into that warm blanket with him. He never wanted to leave Spock’s side, especially at a time like this. But Jim could feel his stomach eating away at itself, and he promised himself that he would see him first thing in the morning.

Finally, Jim left Spock’s quarters, heading down the empty hall with a bounce in his step. Every time he finished speaking with Spock, he found himself overcome by this euphoric sensation. Just seeing his pointed ears brought a smile to his face, but every time he got closer and closer to Spock, he felt completely above the world.

Not a single crewmember walked the hall he was currently walking through, which was expected. Deck five was usually quite deserted, considering it was mostly made up of senior officer’s quarters. He yawned as he turned the corner.

The memory of Sovik came rushing back to him, and he recalled the way he had physically taken Spock’s hand into his own. It was disturbing for Jim to remember it because it had struck him as so odd. It was strange for a Vulcan to be too quick to touch another so privately, and what made it even more offensive was that it was (of course) Spock. The sick bastard’s obsession with him was becoming more and more apparent, that Jim wasn’t sure he could follow Starfleet’s orders this time-- not at the risk of his first officer.

Jim sighed, as he listened to his boots thudding against the floor below him. Everything was so quiet and peaceful on this floor, and Jim wished for a moment that every deck could be this calm and motionless. However, he knew this could never be the case on such an extravagant and busy ship… especially not when Sovik was on board.

So many problems had risen once the Enterprise had picked up the RU-598 crew. Sovik was clearly an individual in which one could simply never win with. He had been cruel, aggressive, and perverted from the moment Jim had laid eyes on him.

Suddenly, Jim’s entire body numbed painfully, everything becoming incredibly dark incredibly fast. The source of his affliction came from a tense grip on the back of his neck.

Finally, a thud sounded throughout the hall, and Jim could no longer move at all. He felt confined, as though his body wasn’t his own, and could faintly see a black pair of shoes come into his view, almost touching his nose. The individual above him stood there for a moment, and then began speaking in a low and threatening voice, yet he could not discern what was being said specifically, or who those boots belonged to.

Had he been in a more aware state, perhaps he would have placed the blame appropriately, most likely in Sovik’s name. But he could not focus his thoughts enough. At the moment, he was using all of his efforts to stop himself from giving in to the darkness that was creeping towards him.

The sound of boots approaching from the distance was all Jim could hear, and the individual who had committed the crime had now groaned in frustration. He lifted Jim’s aching body in his hands and tossed him against one of the walls across the hall, as though he were a broken toy. The figure quickly departed down the hall, and soundly entered a nearby lift.

Hitting his head against the back wall was all that Jim could handle. As he slumped onto the ground, groaning softly, he could feel that dreadful darkness swallow him. All thought processes had ceased, all movements had froze, and Jim was left in the empty corridor, head resting on the floor, and his arm wedged under his stomach.

However, it was strange. From all the things Jim could have contemplated before the accident, there had been one thing he thought of. As unconsciousness was settling on him, he could only hear Sovik’s voice speaking in his head, repeating, _“He requires an expert touch._ ”

-

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe in happy endings!! I promise. I hope everybody enjoyed this chapter, and please brace yourselves for the next chapter if you choose to go on :) 
> 
> I'm always happy to hear all of your thoughts, and what you think of my work so far. <333 :) LLAP


	9. Losing Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress this enough…. THIS CHAPTER IS FULL OF ANGST AND SEXUAL CONTENT! (Sorry for the spoiler if you didn’t see this coming??? )… but this chapter is entirely sexual content and mature subject matter. WARNINGS COME AS FOLLOWS…  
> Graphic depictions of Rape and non-con…. Graphic depictions of Violence….. verbal abuse… you might want to stab the hell out of Sovik…. 
> 
> For the easily triggered, or for those who wish to skip over, I have placed XXXX’s before and after the rape scene. That way you can still get what’s going on. 
> 
> NOW for my real notes…  
> I want to thank plaidshirtjimkirk, who not only beta’d my entire story so far, … but also has been such a great supporter, and has been my personal cheerleader this entire time!!! :) She is literally the best!! 
> 
> I’ve said it multiple times before… but I want to stress it now more than ever… I BELIEVE IN HAPPY ENDINGS. <33

Losing Gravity

 

 

Spock pressed his face into the pillow below his head, hugging the blanket in his arms tighter and bringing it over his cold nose. He must have forgotten to increase the heat in the room; however, he was so faint now that he couldn’t even make himself command the computer to change the temperature. For now, the blanket would suffice for the warmth he required.

He could feel himself sinking back into a restful state, and as he did, the throbbing pain in his head began again--thudding unbearably. Spock could not understand where this sudden illness had come from, but now, he was far too weak to even consider theories.

He clutched the blanket tightly, absorbing as much of the warmth as he could manage. Perhaps the heat in his room was not functioning normally from the strange intermittent electrical failures the ship had begun experiencing. Even so, Spock also wondered if it was not his sickness which made him require more heat.

A very faint groan escaped Spock as he tried to turn the other way. He found it quite odd that he had acquired such an illness. He hadn’t felt this off in quite some time. There had been that time he acquired a cold with his mother, and a type of Vulcan flu as a child years after, but aside from those instances, Spock was almost always capable of meditating harmful bacteria out of his system. He especially never experienced anything that affected his shields to this degree.

He could feel the vulnerability in his mind-- so raw and unprotected. He simply wanted to spring off the bed, return to his meditation stone, and work on re-establishing the now brittle walls of his mind.

Spock’s arm got slightly caught in his meditation robe, and as he tried to straighten the limb out of it, he finally realized what had happened hours ago. Distracted by his ailments, he nearly forgot Jim had taken him to his quarters, and that he was anticipating on meditating for the exact reason of rebuilding his shields. However, as he had been so exhausted, he’d somehow fallen asleep at Jim’s side, and had remained there in his robes.

‘ _How unVulcan_ ,’ Spock scolded himself bitterly, and turned his head the other way, his thoughts trailing off. He felt incredibly foolish for having fallen asleep at his captain’s side for a second time. What would Jim think of him being so weak, so out of control? He felt his cheeks flush with mordification.  

Spock’s heart dropped. He could not bear to comprehend what Jim must have thought of him now. Despite Jim’s likely embarrassment with him, Spock couldn’t deny there was a creeping sense of frustration threatening to breach his carefully constructed shields. He felt the same question batter him once again, asking why he cared. so much about the emotions of a human-- and more specifically, why he was so concerned about losing the casual company of his captain. This was not what first officers were supposed to be concerned with, and neither were Vulcans.

Yet, it hurt all the same.

With that notion aching in his side, he could feel his thoughts ramble on until they no longer made sense, and he was once again overtaken by the comforting sensation of sleep. It felt incredible to finally reach the point of relaxation again. It had been so long since he was able to achieve sleep like this, and yet this was the second night he was able to accomplish it with ease.

As Spock slept, he envisioned Jim once again. There was no intimacy in his dream, yet there was something so alluring that it was perhaps even greater. They were aboard the bridge, and Spock was simply watching his captain performing his duties--an endeavor Spock always enjoyed being an observer of. The way Jim’s smile was always so welcoming and inviting, as well the way he possessed a calm, yet charming and enthusiastic demeanor. It was illogical to enjoy the sound of his laughter as much as he did.

Suddenly the mattress dipped from the weight of another body. ‘ _Jim,_ ’ Spock thought in disorientation, his body weakened and therefore easily convinced as to who the other person was. Thinking nothing of it, Spock moved over, wishing to give his captain room.

And why not? Perhaps Jim had never left his side. Perhaps Jim had fallen asleep too, just as they had done the previous night. Jim could have been resting at his side the entire evening and he would not have been the wiser.

“Jim,” Spock whispered as he made enough room for Jim to occupy the spot behind him. He could feel the individual moving across the bed, laying down next to him above the sheets.

Contentment came across Spock, as he felt satisfied with the company of his captain. They had never done anything like this before, and in fact, Spock had never shared his bed with anybody besides his parents. Yet, he was illogically comfortable feeling Jim’s warmth against his frigid body, and the heated breath on the back of his neck. He wanted to turn to face his captain so that he could see whether or not Jim’s eyes were closed. He wanted to embrace the man as they slept, and he had no idea why.

Fingers ran up the skin behind his ear, and then gently felt up to the pointed end. The digits that were now tracing the shell of it were rough and sloppy with its movements. It raised a hint of concern within Spock, causing him to lift his head the best he could.

“Jim?” Spock questioned quietly. He could feel the hands now pinching his ears somewhat painfully. These could not be Jim’s hands. He would never dare inflict pain upon him without an apology or permission. Besides, over the past few days, Spock had come to know Jim’s fingers, and though they had their share of rough patches from his work as the captain, they were nothing like this.

Another hand twisted itself into his hair painfully, tugging on the strands possessively. While pulling his head back, Spock could feel a hot mouth bite hard on the back of his neck, causing him to squirm forward to free himself. Finally, the teeth released, and Spock tried to discern whether there was blood present or not, however it was difficult to be sure.

“I am not your _precious_ captain,” A deep, driven voice hissed into his ear. Spock grunted in pain from the mark on the back of his neck.

Spock’s heart raced dangerously in his side, giving him enough strength to sit up and whip his head back to look at the stranger who had crawled into his bed uninvited. His eyes could not adjust to the darkness of his room, and he could only see a dark figure moving closer over top of him.

“Computer, lights at …” Spock’s voiced, and then suddenly his air was cut off when a hand clawed its way over his lips, aggressively pushing his body back down on the mattress.

“Commander.” It was clear at this point that the individual who now had his hands all over his body, was none other than the Enterprise’s guest Vulcan, Sovik. His face was nearly touching his cheek as he spoke, “I need your help.”

A rush of lust came over Spock’s mind, assaulting him in the most private and personal way. He could feel the offending energy rushing from the Vulcan’s fingers over his sensitive lips, and he tried relentlessly to escape the brutal grasp.

He tried to open his mouth as some attempt to break the fathomless emotional transference and secure his raw shields from the onslaught of sexual energy. He could not have this now, not when he was so vulnerable and weak, and not when he shields were completely inoperable.

“Spock,” Sovik spoke through his teeth, holding tighter over Spock’s mouth. “I need your help.”

He wasn’t sure why Sovik felt the need to repeat himself when it was clear that Spock had heard him, and just incapable of responding. His eyes went wide as Sovik raised himself off the bed and began straddling Spock’s long, slender legs.

“Sovik,” Spock attempted to plead, mumbling through the fingers. He could barely get his mouth open with the hand gripping his jaw closed.

“Spock,” Sovik’s voice was now pleading, going softer. “I need you.”

Spock struggled under Sovik’s body, trying to move his head away from his hand, but it only followed. The intense effort it took attempting to slip free was working against him, as he felt himself slump into the mattress below him, and Sovik groan with pleasure.

Very slowly, Sovik dropped his hand, resting it in a threatening manner over Spock’s delicate throat.

“Sovik,” Spock quickly begged in desperation, his lungs being crushed by the heavy Vulcan weighing over him. He tried to sneak a deep breath into his lungs. “Remove yourself,”

The hand around Spock’s neck tightened, constricting his air supply and causing him to choke uncomfortably.

“Stop,” was all Spock could manage. He could no longer beg or plead with the Vulcan as his head began to pound, and his already weary body grew even fainter. The hand he had brought up to push Sovik off him dropped over the hand on his neck, and latched to them there, as one last plea.

Then, after a few moments, they softened, and Spock began frantically gasping for breaths of air. His eyes closed from his exhaustion.

“I apologize Spock,” Sovik whispered, remaining rooted over the top of Spock, his legs tightening.

Spock did not respond immediately as he was still struggling to regain his breath. After his breathing had settled, he looked up at his attacker, and then lowered his brows angrily. There was no forgiving what had happened within these walls. How dare Sovik try to take him out with absolutely no provocation? In fact, Sovik had done him the disgrace of breaking into his quarters. He had thought better of Sovik, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Computer, at …” Spock attempted again, but Sovik once again interrupted, only this time without physically assaulting him.

“Spock, I beg thee,” Sovik panted, his tone hungry and unforgiving. “If you do not assist me, I will surely die.”

Everything seemed to freeze for Spock, as he retraced the events of that night. The strange, out of Vulcan behavior, the way Sovik had transferred anger and lust onto him could only mean one thing. _Pon farr._

“Sovik,” Spock spoke calmly, even knowing how violent and challenging this moment of heat was. From what Spock had known from his own experience with it, it was not an erotically pleasing moment in a Vulcan’s life. It was brutal, painful, and extremely violent.

From Spock’s experience, he didn’t even go through any sexual contact. As it was now, Spock was still a virgin. During his first pon farr, he had nearly killed his captain in vicious competition. That fit of aggression and the action of choking the life out of Jim was enough to satisfy his flames which overcame him. It had been that, as well as the tumbling around in the dirt which had also helped him achieve the satisfaction he had desired.

If he had to be part Vulcan and part human, he would have hoped that he would have been spared the horrid, forbidden time of lust and reproduction. Yet, he had gone through it just as painfully as every other Vulcan did.

It _was_ a painful experience, or at least it had been in Spock’s opinion. After giving in to such a primal and instinctive moment of illogic, he had murdered his captain, and drove the Enterprise off course, causing so much hassle among the ship. Spock was beyond grateful that he had a friend in Jim, and that until this day, it was only Jim and McCoy who knew what he had gone through. Only they had seen it happen, and end.

“Pon farr,” Spock whispered, more for his own need then anything. He eased his body out from under Sovik’s and rested his weight onto his elbows, looking at the way Sovik tightened his legs around Spock’s knees. There was no escaping.

“Spock, if you do not help me tonight, I _will_ die tomorrow,” Sovik reiterated, his eyes hardening on him. From what Spock could understand from his tone and growing aggression, Sovik truly had very little time left. The heat alone coming from the Vulcan’s body was enough to tell him such things.

“This is not your first pon farr.” Spock attempted to ignore the way Sovik’s hips began grinding into him coarsely. He felt himself blush.

Sovik moaned, resting his hand over Spock’s throat once again. Instead of gripping it angrily, he began touching the dark green skin where his hands had marked him.

“Indeed not,” Sovik answered, distracted by what his fingers were currently doing over Spock’s sensitive skin, until Spock batted them away defensively.

“I will inform the captain,” Spock suggested, trying to move off the bed once again, but Sovik’s legs refused his attempt.

The hands returned to his throat, pushing him against the bed once again with a grunt, and they both peered into each other’s eyes, barely able to see them with the lights turned down so low. “You will not speak of it,” Sovik growled, his nails beginning to puncture the skin behind his neck. “You have a sworn duty on this ship to aid to my every need. And at the moment, I need your assistance to get me through this without anybody on this ship knowing.”

Spock brought his hands up to try to pry off the ones from around his neck. His lips began groping for air, his eyes closing tightly from his struggle. “Why?” he whispered.

“Spock.” Sovik loosened his grip, but kept his grasp firmly around him. “I need a Vulcan to help me pass through this.”

Spock swallowed now that he was capable of doing so. He now opened his eyes, watching the way the other pair were looking at him desperately.

“Release my neck and I will try,” Spock finally managed to say through his teeth, his hands still touching Sovik’s.

With apparent approval, Sovik released his neck, and watched as Spock began rubbing the spots where Sovik had pinched him and threatened him. He tried to slink his body away but it was of no use. Sovik grounded himself against his legs, and his hands were ready for any sudden movements.

“What about your bondmate?” Spock asked breathing heavily. “Do you not have a bondmate who will attend to your…” Spock tapered off, not wanting to go into such a taboo subject with an individual who had just attempted to asphyxiate him. He turned his eyes away shamefully.

“T’Leia.” Sovik’s body loosened again, his tone breathless and beseeching. “She _was_ , but she is no longer.”

This was the opportunity for escape, and Spock did not wait a second. He slipped his legs out from under him, and gave a hard kick forward, sending Sovik to the end of the bed on his backside. Spock then dashed for the doorway where the intercom was located, but before he could manage to reach for it, Sovik had a hold of one of his ankles, hauling Spock to the floor, his face colliding with the hard surface forcefully.

“You cannot leave!” Sovik yelled, dragging Spock’s weakening body closer towards his. Spock could feel his heart pounding away.

“Sovik, you do not want this.” Spock turned his body so that he could face the threat head on.

Sovik dragged his hand through Spock’s hair, tightening at the top of his head and then pulling it back, enough to remove a few of the strands. Spock winced.

“She’s dead, Spock!” Sovik bellowed above him, once again straddling his body to keep him in place. “She’s gone, and I need… I _need_ you.”

Spock swallowed hard, trying to wriggle out but it was no use. His strength--especially this weakened-- was nothing compared to a Vulcan with the burning blood of pon farr.

“I am not yours to…” Spock began to protest, a sad tone taking over him, but Sovik once again interrupted.

“No? Who do you belong to?” he demanded, bringing one hand back to Spock’s throat and the other pressing his palm into his forehead to keep it down.

The room fell silent. Neither one of them spoke but looked into each other’s eyes threateningly.

Who did he belong to? Jim Kirk? Not entirely. Though he felt an easiness in reaching out to his human companion at any given time, with the knowledge that it would be graciously accepted, Spock still felt separated. He felt separate from Jim since he wasn't able to level with him as their other colleagues were able to. There was so much Spock lacked, and for that he felt as though, at the moment, he in no way belonged to Jim Kirk, as much as he had desired it.

“That captain of yours?” He shouted, gripping Spock’s throat tighter. “Do you think he would want to bond with a Vulcan like you… a _half-breed_ Vulcan?”

Spock bit his lip roughly. “Sovik, please,”

“He is not yours,” Sovik spoke quietly again, softening his clutch on him. “He will _never_ understand you the way that I can.” Sovik’s head dipped and he began biting Spock’s chin, pinching it and sucking it.

A deep sinking feeling came over his mind as Sovik’s fingers then pressed into his meld points. He could feel Sovik poking through what was left of his shields. Sovik’s mental impression covered his own, searching and seeking for something Spock could not be sure of. He tried to block off certain areas of his mind, but Sovik forced them open and allowed himself access to wherever he pleased. Spock’s dilapidated shields were no match for the experienced Vulcan above him.

Images came into Spock’s mind, as if hidden memories were made to resurface. A flood of what Spock had been hiding beneath the surface was becoming clear to him again, as if he were reliving each experience.

He was a child for a moment, feeling his heart beating sadly in his side. He remembered this moment in his life, when his father had been discussing his bonding with T’Pring’s parents.

 _“It would not be wise,”_ T’Pring’s father had said all those years ago. _“What would this mean for T’Pring’s future?”_

Those words had hurt then and they hurt now, as illogical as that had been. He remembered trying to appear as stoic as his father had been, but it had been nearly impossible. Knowing how difficult it would be for T’Pring to bond with him had made the endeavor even more difficult. All those Vulcans who had tormented him as a child would only prove a nuisance in her life, and Spock cared for T’Pring. They were not close by any means, but she was a living being, and she had the capability to be hurt as well. He wished to save her from that hurt.

Sovik winced from the memory, but dug deeper into Spock’s subconscious, trying to find exactly what he wanted to get from Spock.

Another memory came to the front lines, one where Spock had been on Starbase Fifteen, alone and waiting. The memory was short of action, but it had been the most desolate memory he had.

As Spock remembered standing there, he recalled where he had been going and who he had left behind. Since he had been en route for Starfleet, he had left his parents behind. And though Spock had fumbled with the memory, trying to recall the last things he said to them, he was reminded with another scene of what his departure from his home had sounded like. It was silent.

Spock had never seen Sovik so incredibly closed off. The day he had left, Sarek closed himself off into his study and did not speak a word to his son. Though Amanda had made the effort to wish him good fortune in his new path, it had hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before, that his father was not there.

He did not belong there.

Before Spock could delve into that memory more, Sovik pulled an image (perhaps on accident) that Spock had hidden so deeply within himself that even he wasn’t aware it had existed.

Jim.

There was nothing more, and nothing less. It was Jim and Jim alone. Feelings of adoration, love, affection, and desire had drowned out the other thought processes Sovik had carelessly brought forth. He could feel his heart lurching for Jim’s, and his mind searching for more of him. It was a strange response to his captain’s face. Had he always felt this way about him?

What was even more shocking than the feelings Spock hadn’t even been aware he was capable of, was a link that he had been ignorant to… a link he shared with Jim.

_T’hy’la._

Spock’s eyes opened instantly, both damp and full of regret. All these months of trying to meditate strange sensations and thoughts from his mind, had led Spock to believe that perhaps what he had been pushing aside all this time, was the t'hy'la bond he and Jim had created. He felt guilty for ever trying to rid himself of such honor, which had brought him to wonder how Jim had dealt with the bond.

The t’hy’la bond was an extremely uncommon connection which developed spontaneously between two individuals who were intensely close and familiar with one another inside and out. Spock hadn’t thought it was possible for him to have such a strong, rare, and honorable link with a human, but it was proven, there before him, that the bond existed--and he could feel Sovik’s mind erupting with rage from it.

“Please,” Spock barely spoke over a whisper, begging for privacy over his own thoughts.

“Selfish. _So human,_ ” Sovik spat out as if the words were nothing but filth on his tongue. “To take what is not yours, you are robbing another, more suitable person from him. And why? So you can fulfill an _emotional need_ of yours? I thought better of you, Spock.”

“I do not understand.” Spock bit his lip again, closing his eyes so that he did not have to look into Sovik’s any longer-- nearly breathless from the surprise of his recent discovery and the sorrow of how it was made.

Sovik straightened his back and raised his brow unimpressed. His fingers finally removed the mental connection for good. “Jim Kirk deserves one of his own kind, just as you do too.”

 _“Yet you have so graciously explained how I do not fit with either humans or Vulcans,”_ Spock wished to inform.

“Your captain is a very emotional human. Do you wish to rob him of a partner who can experience those feelings with him? You desire to give him a bondmate who cannot satisfy him properly? He will demand an emotional response from you at every opportunity, and enjoy breaking you as often as possible.” Sovik moved both hands over Spock’s wrists, pinning him to the hard floor painfully.

The words were true, and yet Spock could not believe them. Jim did not think of him as a half-breed like others did. He had told him so. He had expressed how much he appreciated both sides of him, and when he was with Jim, he didn’t need to belong to Vulcan or Earth. When he they were together, he felt as though being next to his captain was where he truly belonged.

Yet, it was true. All of it. Jim was an emotional man and it would, no doubt, frustrate him when he would not be able to elicit human responses from Spock. In fact, that was what he had known Terran relationships to consist of:the emotional back and forth between two beings. Would he be able to satisfy that part of Jim? Was Jim aware of this?

“He will not be able to hear you tell him your _feelings_ , and he will not be able to hear you say you love him.” Sovik neared Spock’s face. “Unless you are capable in these human atrocities.”

Spock lowered his gaze, thinking critically about Sovik’s words, as well as his intentions. It was clear to Spock at this point that Sovik wished to mate with him. He could feel the pressure of Sovik’s straining erection against his body, and for that, he was very concerned.

“Jim appreciates my unique physiology,” Spock muttered, trying harder now to pry Sovik’s hands off of his wrists.

“But he cannot satisfy your own desires, Spock. He will not compliment your Vulcan half. He will only bring out the side of you that you are so ashamed of!”

“Shame… is an emotion, and I am not..”

A hand came up and grabbed Spock’s jaw, applying pressure there to cease the Vulcan from speaking further.

“Are you going to follow in your father’s footsteps? Are you going to betray everything that Vulcan has given you, and bond with that… that…” Sovik could not find a fitting word to describe Jim. There had been so many he wished to choose from, but picking one which would safely get his message across was going to be difficult.

He never got the chance to finish as Spock had opened his mouth again to speak. “I would, for my captain.”

Yet again, Sovik’s hands released on Spock, a new approach now coming to mind. He looked down at the struggling Vulcan who was weakening more and more as the moments pressed on.

“Spock,” Sovik’s words were soft once again. “I require your assistance. If you do not assist me, I _will_ die.”

Spock sighed, his eyes closing momentarily as he tried to puzzle together his other options. However, at this moment, doing such tasks required an immense amount of brain activity, brain activity he was incapable of providing given his faltering shields. Without them, Spock was experiencing every hateful, lustful desire that was radiating off of the heavy Vulcan caging him in.

“Sovik,” Spock managed to speak again in an equally calm manner. “I will assist you, but not in this fashion.”

The blood began to boil within Sovik at that remark. “To what fashion are you referring to, Spock?”

“Release me and I will reveal my meaning,” Spock explained, feeling himself melt into the ground shortly after Sovik eased his weight off him.

Spock stood shakily before him, trying to catch his breath from the intense situation he was now faced with, as well as from the process of merely standing up. He looked into the Vulcan’s eyes wearily.

Slowly, Spock brought his hand out, encouraging Sovik to take it as the Vulcan gesture of love, osculation, and embrace. He would allow for Sovik to transfer his aggressive needs through his sensitive digits--not because he desired it, but because it was the right thing to do.

He recalled the moments he had entered into pon farr. Given the opportunity, he, too, would have accepted such a gesture if it meant relieving an ounce of the tension he had felt. The drive was so strong, so infectious that he would have broken anyone who would interfere.

As well, to allow Sovik to continue sauntering the halls in such a manner would be dangerous. He would no doubt harm another, or attempt contact with an unwilling participant who was not lucky enough to acquire Vulcan strength. They would not survive against Sovik’s touch. What was one, personal touch on his hand anyways versus a full-on assault of another innocent? Though it was sensual, private and awkward, it was still something he had to do for the safety of the ship.

Sovik accepted this, reaching his hand up to outline Spock’s own with two of his fingers, caressing them, petting them, wanting to please them both in the process. However, from where they were touching, it was clear that neither party was receiving much release from it.

It struck Spock as strange. This act was known to be an effective suppressor of _the urge_. However, here Sovik was, now pressing his fingers against Spock’s harshly, attempting to increase the pace to perhaps heightened the likeliness or relief. It never came.

“Is it ineffective?” Spock questioned, looking at the older Vulcan with half lidded eyes. He rested his other hand against the wall to balance himself, wanting to be finished with the degrading act as soon as possible.

“Quite… ineffective,” Sovik agreed between deep breaths. The need for more was even greater now.

Spock, desperate for another option to slate Sovik’s flaming heart, took the Vulcan’s other hand and brought it to his own lips, forcing himself to trace along them as he had known it to be another form of Vulcan intimacy. It felt degrading as well as humiliating to participate in an act like this, and to have such a deep detestment for the other involved. Soon enough, Spock realized that Sovik was not deriving much relief from this act either.

“Spock,” Sovik growled. “I need _more_.”

Spock threw the Vulcan’s hands away from him. He had been too far gone to quench his need with these childish practices. Sovik was to a point where Spock was unwilling to go.

However, Sovik _needed_ to go.

Sovik wrapped his arm around to the back of Spock’s neck, trying hard to bring his head towards his, but Spock pushed away, bringing himself to his feet once again.

“Sovik, we must contact sickbay,” he informed, his breath hitching at the end when Sovik began pulling on his meditation robes, and sliding his hands underneath the fabric and against his soft skin. He felt a rush of goosebumps prickle across his body. He wanted to move away but Sovik had him firmly in place.

It took seconds before Spock was pulled forward from behind the knees, successfully toppling over on top of Sovik. Once he was lying on him, he could feel Sovik’s hardening member pressing up into his stomach, threatening with what Sovik truly desired of him.

“You are not in control!” Spock stressed, trying to wriggle his arms from Sovik’s grasp.

“We both are aware that we have two options. Either I do as I please, or I will gain the same satisfaction from murdering your captain,” Sovik growled, flipping their position in a matter of seconds. Spock was now on his back once again, with Sovik heatedly on top of him, trying hard to bite at every inch of his exposed skin.

“You will not,” Spock grunted from the force of Sovik’s body against his.

“I will,” Sovik snapped, his hands now traveling to the bottom of Spock’s robe. “You do not believe that I would kill your _captain_?” The word slithered from his tongue distastefully.

There was no doubt Sovik would. He had gone into a verbal battle with Jim on numerous occasions, and Spock could easily see it taking a physical turn. Furthermore he knew that as strong as the captain was, he did not stand a chance against a Vulcan in heat. He hadn’t the first time.

Spock was tied. He felt as though he were trapped between a life of regret and despair, and a life without Jim. Though he found the probability high that he would be able to save Jim had he been threatened, he still could not handle the thought of it. He couldn’t handle the idea of possibly reliving a moment where Jim had died at the hands of another pon farr. It had been most dreadful the first time around.

“I will murder your captain, I will tell Starfleet of what he has done to the project, and leave the Federation on account of you and your _Jim,_ ” Sovik threatened again, now lifting Spock’s robe slightly. “A moment ago you were arrogant enough to claim you would do _anything_ for your captain, so why would you not sacrifice this to save my life, and his?”

Spock lowered his brows, trying hard to expel the thoughts that Sovik was throwing his way. He tried not to allow it to hurt him: however, it had been most logical, in a sick sort of way.

Only seconds had passed, but it had been enough to drive the Vulcan mad. “If you speak of this, I will surely break your captain.”

That had been all that Spock could handle, and he brought his hand out from Sovik’s and threw his fist directly into his jaw, knocking his head backward from the force.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This act of defiance did not earn him an ounce of freedom; rather, upset Sovik to the point of no return. Sovik raised his own hand, connecting the back of it with the side of Spock’s face painfully, and bruising the flesh there.

Sovik raised his position over the Vulcan higher, now straddling his chest instead of his midsection. He then began to unbutton his pants and unzip the fly, doing so in a very sloppy and aggressive fashion. Once he had completed the task, he then brought his erection out from its captivity, and allowed for it to spring into Spock’s view.

Spock could still feel Sovik’s hand against his cheek, and it reminded him just how powerless he was at the moment. He could feel himself so entirely weak that he could no longer keep his hands up to push the predator off him. He simply lied back and exhaled with choppy breaths.

“Open your mouth,” Sovik growled, twisting his fingers back into Spock’s soft bangs. When Spock only responded by tightening his lips together, Sovik pulled Spock’s head up by the strands in his hand, and then slammed his head violently against the ground.

Spock refused to open his mouth still, trying to turn his face from Sovik’s direction, but only managing to cause the Vulcan to tug on his hair harder. Even through his pain, he tried his hardest to keep his lips firmly shut, knowing well and good what might transpire if he opened it.

“I said open!” Sovik repeated in a much more brash tone, slamming Spock’s head down one final time. Still, Spock stubbornly kept his lips tightly pursed. His eyes looked up at Sovik nervously.

A hand came up to Spock’s face, tightly grabbing onto his nose, and cutting off the air supply in hopes of forcing his lips open. It was quite an ingenious strategy, Spock thought darkly to himself, feeling shameful beneath Sovik.

Spock had the capability to hold his breath for a lengthy time—about a minute and thirty five seconds—but even that could not stop him from the instinctual need to open his mouth and take in some fresh air to his lungs.

When it did come to this, Spock tried his hardest to breathe through a very small parting of his lips. He tried his hardest to be unnoticed, but Sovik had been watching every movement very carefully--and took this open opportunity to reach his fingers into his mouth, and wrench Spock’s teeth apart.

“How is it that you take commands so willingly as a first officer, but so horribly as a mate?” Sovik demanded, shoving four of his fingers into Spock’s mouth in order to keep it open. Though it had served a purpose being there for something much darker later, it was also serving quite well as a source of pleasure for Sovik, and so he moaned hungrily above him.

Spock tried to reject the fingers with his tongue, trying to push them out, trying to bite down on them, but it was a hopeless cause when he felt another flood of lust wave over him from Sovik. No matter what he seemed to do in this position, it seemed to deliver pleasure to the predator gazing above him.

The fingers went dangerously far into his mouth, nearly reaching the back of his throat. Once entirely in, Sovik began roughly pulling them out, followed by reinserting them in. He continued this brutal rhythm.

It was painful. His jaw was cramping, the back of his throat bruising, and he could feel the scraping of Sovik’s nails against the top of his mouth. However, Spock tried to be quiet and fuss as little as possible. He would rather have four of Sovik’s fingers painfully spearing through his lips, then other things.

As if he could read his mind, Sovik took his other hand, quickly toying with his swollen, dripping penis. The sight and the smell was enough to make Spock sick. He had never once considered an act like this with a man like Sovik. He had at one point respected the Vulcan, honored him, and felt welcomed by him. He had stood up for the Vulcan, even when he was wrong. Spock felt ashamed of how foolish he had been… how unVulcan he was to have missed all the signs.

After removing his fingers, Sovik quickly replaced it with his length, pushing deeper into Spock’s throat. And though Vulcans were said to not have a reflex gland like the ones in humans, Spock found himself gagging from the depth in which Sovik had managed to reach, and from the thought of what was now soiling his mouth.

The taste was curious, as he tasted it for the first time. It was murky and somewhat coppery. For a moment, Spock simply closed his eyes in shame, trying to pull himself away from the situation mentally. He didn’t dare try to do it physically. If he did, he could only imagine the pleasure it would bring the older Vulcan if he slid his tongue around the intruder, attempting to force it out. Besides, Spock wanted to avoid touching it at every cost.

Sovik slid his fingers to Spock’s ears, his hips stilling with his penis pushed entirely inside. A satisfied moan escaped his lips, and his fingers tightened around the pointed tips. When he had a good hold on the delicate appendages, he then used them to hold him steady as he sought release.

Quickly, Sovik began bucking his hips, accidently hitting the end of Spock’s nose with stomach. However, the heat had already consumed him, and he could care very little about what bruises or injuries his ministrations were creating. He assisted his forceful thrusting by shaking Spock’s head in his hands, creating the perfect rhythm for him to find his release in.

Spock muffled out a cry of pain when Sovik slammed his hips into mouth hard, causing his teeth to ache afterwards. However, there was little time to focus on the pain there while Sovik once again started slamming his head back into the floor with his eagerness of trying to slide Spock on and off of his throbbing erection.

“Suck,” Sovik huffed out, his tone of voice angry and aggressive, but not nearly as aggressive as his grip over Spock now.

He thought himself incapable of emotions, yet Spock felt uncontrollable fear mounting within him, causing his lips to tremble and his eyes to tightly shut. He couldn’t follow Sovik’s demands, he couldn’t look into his eyes, he couldn’t risk to speak… there was just so much he was incapable of. If the night had gone how he had wanted, he would be wrapped up in his blankets, and Jim would have never left his side.

_Jim._

Spock felt the sadness within him overtake the feelings of fear and desperation. He felt himself begin to hollow out as he thought about Jim’s face and how gently he had treated him the days before-- how different Jim’s fingers had felt than Sovik’s, and how even with their T’hy’la bond, neither of them had to touch each other to derive extreme satisfaction.

His T’hy’la.

A hand struck him over the cheek that had already gone tender and sore from the last time. Sovik raised his hand again, causing Spock to flinch, and squirm in a weak attempt to escape. It was of little use once Sovik’s hand reconnected with the spot on his face once again.

“I will not repeat myself,” Sovik snarled, clenching Spock’s jaw open once again. There was very little to do but comply, and as soon as he did, Sovik was thrusting into the warmth of Spock’s mouth once again.

Still, Spock did not satisfy Sovik’s request. Spock was sure that there was absolutely no way that Sovik would be able to force him into pleasuring him against his will. Yet, this displeased Sovik immensely as he groaned in frustration at Spock’s lack of understanding.

“If you will not follow orders as you have been instructed to do for me, I will be forced into taking further measures to assure that you do.” Sovik, removed his hands from Spock’s head, keeping his member lodged deep into his throat still.

Suddenly, Sovik had a hold on his nose once again, pressing his hips further into Spock’s face, covering Spock’s ability to breathe through his mouth. The curls of his pubic hair tickled Spock’s nose as well as the lingering scent of semen.

“We will see how long it takes you to follow your orders, Commander,” Sovik spoke through his teeth.

One minute, seventeen seconds.

One minute seventeen seconds of mercilessly choking on Sovik’s sex, and desperately pleading with himself to pass out or simply die. He didn’t want to go through with this. Not when he had been so close to happiness with his newly discovered t’hy’la.

 _Newly_ discovered? Spock kicked himself for being so oblivious. Why had it taken a disaster like this to recognize that bond he shared with Jim existed? Why did it take Sovik’s brutal treatment to remind him of how much he needed Jim’s gentle touch?

Spock couldn’t hold the air in his lungs any longer, and a weary hand came up to try and hit Sovik. Though he wanted nothing more than to pass out, he could not manage to do so without fighting. Since nothing seemed to inspire the older Vulcan to budge, and Spock was left with only one option.

Pathetically, Spock’s cheeks hollowed around the offending appendage, and he desperately began sucking on it in an attempt to satisfy Sovik enough to allow him to gather new air for his lungs. He didn’t want it to come to this, but he knew that during this time, any Vulcan would kill if necessary.

“Ah,” Sovik hissed, pulling his swelling erection out from Spock’s mouth slowly, rewarding him with some air before slamming back in. “Continue.”

Spock did not wish to participate, but in fear of what he would do to his captain, or himself, he simply brought his cheeks in again, and applied the necessary pressure to please Sovik.

The thrusting began again, hitting Spock’s nose once more. Suddenly, to Spock’s surprise, Sovik removed himself completely standing up over top of him.

His eyes traveled over the younger Vulcan, his puffed and swollen lips, the heaving chest, and of course the ruffled meditation robe he had been admiring the entire evening. How erotically pleasing that robe was to the older Vulcan. How elegant, and ironic it had been for Spock to wear it. Something to ensure Spock’s sanity and shields was now a symbol of how Sovik broke him, and took everything dear to him away. A symbol of how he took what that captain wanted, and how he distorted it to fit his own need.

And in a way, it was now a symbol of how he would break Jim-- how ravaging his Vulcan would leave the captain and his first officer in a position of loss, mistrust, and uncertainty. If Spock chose to tell him of this, then Jim would know he had been there before him, but if Spock stayed silent, Jim would still lose him anyway. At every angle, Sovik had won. Sovik had stolen from Jim and hurt him like nothing else could.

“I want you on your knees, and your mouth around me once again.” He gave Spock a warning kick to the side, reminding him of just who had all the power here.

The warning was not suffice. Spock remained on the floor, struggling to breathe and to move. He tried to drag himself away from Sovik’s shadow, but he could not manage it. His body, his face, his head were all so sore now that he was completely incapable of budging.

Sovik’s hands found their way around the Vulcan’s neck, pulling him up and assuring he was able to get onto his knees. Once Spock had done so, Sovik held his neck in one hand, and his own penis in the other. He used it to punish Spock over the cheek he had tenderized with his hand, smacking the spot once again. The leaking precum dribbled down the swollen flesh, and Sovik dragged his penis along it, beginning to paint it across Spock’s skin almost affectionately.

The affection soon ended once Sovik began forcing himself into Spock’s mouth one again. “You will suck, and you will swallow.”

Spock felt himself needing to gag as soon as those words had left Sovik’s mouth. Then came the firm thrusting, and Spock could feel Sovik reaching further into his throat now that they had changed their positions. He was now able to slither deeper with him on his knees.

It felt as though it had taken hours for Sovik to work himself into the intense crescendo he was anticipating. His hips began to pummel into his mouth, nearly knocking Spock backwards onto the ground again. In an attempt to support himself, Spock placed his hand against Sovik’s thighs, crunching the pants there into his firm fist. If it hadn’t been for his illogical trembling, he would have found the strength to try and push Sovik back, but it was impossible in his current state.

Not knowing whether it was from sadness, or the discomfort of the situation, Spock could feel a trail of tears rolling down both sides of his face. They reached his chin, gathering together before falling to the ground with a splash. He tried to ignore the indecency of it, the way it reminded him of just how human he was. However, if being Vulcan meant staying stoic as this abuse took its course, Spock did not wish to be Vulcan.

Sovik ran his fingers once again through his hair, forcing Spock to slam down onto his member, groaning words of gratification. “Yes, Spock, yes.”

Several minutes had passed, and finally he felt something which had caught him off guard. As Sovik’s penis stilled deep within the confines of his throat, he felt a splash of his semen. It began to fill his throat causing Spock to choke and sputter in response, but Sovik gripped his head, holding it there to ensure that his previous demands were met.

“What did I say?” Sovik boomed, forcing himself deeper within him. Spock closed his eyes, trying to hold the come there so that he did not have to swallow. He would take the next chance he got to try and force it out his mouth.

“Open your eyes!” Sovik slapped his hand over the other side of Spock’s cheek where he had neglected to enforce his dominance on.

Spock’s eyes opened, but he refused to give in to Sovik’s other commands. He forced the vile substance from his mouth, letting it coat his lips and chin, and run down Sovik’s erection. Though he had made a mess of his face and meditation robe, anything would be better than to have it in his stomach. Spock felt proud of himself for having salvaged himself at least that bit of dignity.

“Pathetic,” Sovik spat onto Spock’s face, removing his erection from his mouth and then rubbing it over his face, smearing semen and saliva there. Spock’s eyes quickly closed again to avoid getting the foreign fluids from entering them.

Sovik’s hands were around his neck, forcing Spock up onto his feet. “What did I tell you to do!” he exclaimed, lowering his brows heatedly.

Spock tried swallowing, but could not manage it at the tight grip of Sovik’s hands. He attempted to unfasten the fingers around his neck, but instead, his body slumped in exhaustion. “Please,” he finally managed to whisper.

“Please what, Spock? Forgive you? Give you more?” Sovik tightened his hands, grinding his teeth together impatiently.

Spock shook his head the best he could. “Stop,” he sputtered after numerous failed attempts.

From Sovik’s touch, he could feel a rush of anger crashing against his mind. It was clear that Spock’s pleas were only working against him.

All of a sudden, Spock was no longer touching the ground. Sovik was lifting him over his shoulder like an animal, panting as he carried him over to the bed with wanton. Spock felt strange and insignificant in this position, wishing more than anything for Jim to walk through those doors and detain the monster who had already caused him so much distress. He knew well and good that there was only more to come.

Spock landed on the bed with a bounce and a grunt. He looked up at Sovik, as he crawled over him, running his fingers up his robes once again, groping at the skin, and pinching it. Spock tried to keep the drapes of the garment down so that Sovik would no longer stroke him over his thighs.

“Sovik, please,” Spock begged, trying to roll himself off of the bed once again, but Sovik clawed the toned leg in his hands, dragging Spock closer to him, and lifting the robe so that he could see the black Starfleet underwear Spock had been hiding.

Instantly, and with very little preparation, Sovik was pawing at Spock’s flaccid penis. Instead of arousing any sort of pleasure from the act, Spock was instead wincing in pain. “Sovik, stop. _Please._ ” He could not manage to say those words enough.

As expected, it did not stop him. He leaned back onto his heels, and pulled Spock’s lower half to rest on his folded thighs. From this new position, he had a glorious view in between Spock’s legs. He eyed the flesh that was hiding within the confines of the black Starfleet issued underwear and shuddered in excitement.

His hands remained firm in support of Spock’s back, guaranteeing that his lower half was raised for his view. He looked down into Spock’s eyes, admiring their dark brown depths, and wondered for a moment what Jim would say if he was standing in the room watching. However, Sovik knew he had taken care of Jim for the time being.

The calm had ended, and Sovik’s teeth were on the fabric securing Spock’s genitals from Sovik’s brutal force. Sovik was biting and pulling on the material, drenching it in his own spit. Spock raised his hand and gave Sovik as hard a blow to the jaw as he could manage, trying to wriggle from his hands. But Sovik barely moved, only turning his eyes angrily to Spock.

“You take a lot of risks with someone who has the capability to completely destroy your beloved captain!” He then gave Spock a hard bite over his thigh. Spock yelped in pain from the way Sovik acted with all of his force.

Sovik’s hand pulled on the waistband of his undergarment, and began pulling until he could hear the fabric breaking. It was a painful feeling, and quite irrational. Why tear off his clothing when he could have merely slid them away?

He could feel the burn of the fabric rubbing against him as it began to give under Sovik’s intense pressure. Once it finally ripped apart, Sovik tossed it aside, and drank in the sight of Spock’s genitals.

Spock’s lip trembled again, his face burning with embarrassment and horror. He could feel his cheeks staining a green colour, and he wanted to pass out now more than he had ever wanted to. Nobody had ever seen that part of him like this. Of course there had been doctors during exams who had seen the flesh there, but never like this.

The thought of Jim returned to him as Spock thought about the way he would look at him at this moment--how Jim would probably blush in embarrassment, and never see him the same way again. He wanted to be strong, heroic, and brave just as his captain was. But he wasn’t. Right now, he wished he could crawl under his bed and cry.

Jim had always been so strong. He had always faced danger with a similar charm as he possessed when he faced certainty. Spock admired that quality in Jim, as much as he admired the way Jim was able to make him internally laugh. He knew Jim was likely in the room next to his sleeping away and that he would see him in a couple of hours for their shift, but he had never missed him so much.

Tears were running down the sides of his face, and since he was in such an awkward position, he could feel them soak into his messy black hair, and even running into ears.

“Sovik,” Spock whispered, his voice shaky. “Do not.”

“Spock,” Sovik replied, tracing his finger over Spock’s clenched hole. “You do not belong to that human. You belong to a Vulcan. You deserve to surround yourself with your own kind, and to bond. Do you not wish to seek true logic and follow the Vulcan way?”

The words reminded him of his father, causing Spock to shiver at the thought during this degrading time. This was the last place he wanted to recall his father’s face. _“My son, you must make a choice. Vulcan has much to offer, but you must decide to which world you will belong.”_

Was this true? Would he be incapable of offering Jim what he needed? As Sovik had mentioned earlier, Spock would never be able to cry with Jim, to laugh with him, to speak of him openly in regards to feelings. Were these things that Jim required as a human? If so, then who was Spock to hold him back?

“You are a half-breed mutt,” Sovik spat out, biting down over Spock’s toes and onto the sole of his foot. “It would be selfish of you to engage with humans, and you will never find a Vulcan who is willing to carry your burdens with them.” Sovik dragged his tongue from his toes, to the inside of his thigh where he met Spock’s tight hole. “Yet, you have me, Spock.”

A tongue came out over the sensitive entrance, causing Spock to raise his hips to escape Sovik’s hot tongue. His legs began to turn to jelly, his heart racing and pounding in his side.

“I do not want you,” Spock rasped out, his eyes blown wide when Sovik began attempting to insert his tongue into the tiny hole. “ _Stop._ ” His hands pushed at Sovik’s dark hair, trying hard to smack him away.

Sovik raised his head, grabbing Spock’s bothersome fingers and twisting them mercilessly. He could feel Spock’s bones threatening to crack, threatening to dislocate themselves under the extreme pressure, but he could not hold himself back from applying it. Sovik needed Spock, all of him. He needed to be inside him in every possible way. He needed to go where Jim Kirk wanted to go, but would never be able to.

He ran his hand further up Spock’s robe, pinching at his skin and finally finding the sensitive nipples he had been searching for. Rather than pinching them affectionately as he had tried to do over his abdomen, he instead squeezed them tightly, and slowly pulled them. This action rewarded him with a whimper from Spock, and though it wasn’t a pleasured sound, he took it as an accolade merely for the fact that he was getting a response out of the Vulcan.

“That’s right, Spock. You desire this,” Sovik growled, tweaking the now sore nipples in his hands. He basked in the sounds of Spock’s slow torture.

Spock felt the tears welling up in him again, his shaking hands moving up to push onto Sovik’s shoulders to remove his hands from his tender skin. His actions were futile as Sovik simply batted them away again and continued his pulling and tugging and eventual biting.

In a final act of desperation, Spock turned his head away from Sovik’s body, looking off of the side of the bed. He felt his head swaying with nausea and his body shaking from fear and feebleness. He could no longer withstand this treatment, not in this condition… not ever, he imagined.

Off on one of his nightstands, Spock noticed a blinking light. It blinked every ten seconds, a bright red colour only a millimetre in diameter. Spock knew instantly where the light had been coming from, and why. It appeared that Jim had left his personal PADD behind in his quarters.

It was illogical, this feeling he had upon looking at Jim’s personal belonging while such a vile act was being inflicted on his body. It felt as though Jim’s eyes were peering among the horror that was unraveling above him. And with the sensation of Jim’s attention on him, he felt even smaller, even more vulnerable. The shame and humiliation was practically eating away at him with every bite of Sovik’s sharp teeth.

His breathing hitched as he moved his hand up to the nightstand to try and swat the device onto the floor. He didn’t need the red light to remind him of just how disgraceful this all was. He knew _that_ from the moment Sovik’s fingers touched his skin.

Sovik’s hips began slamming in-between his legs, pressing against his groin painfully, and bruising the insides of his thighs. He couldn’t manage to move them with Sovik’s weight pressing down on his already wasted body. That was all he felt like at the moment. Completely used, exploited, and wasted. Wasted for not having been able to shield himself, to regain his strength, and to expose Sovik to Starfleet for misconduct.

But he could not.

“I’m sure the captain would be enraged to see us like this.” Sovik’s face was now firmly pressed into his cheek, allowing his heat to seep into his own. Spock shivered from the hot air rushing over his ear, and he continued to reach his hand out to the night stand eagerly.--yet another thing Spock was incapable of. As soon as his hand touched the cold edge of the table, Sovik grabbed hold of it and folded it over his chest.

“Has the captain ever touched you like this?” Sovik asked, turning Spock’s head to face his, his fingers gripping his cheeks firmly. “Has the captain ever kissed you like I have?” He then pressed his own lips up to Spock’s biting the bottom one painfully in the process. “He’s always wanted to I’m sure, and I cannot blame him for wanting such hideous perfection.”

Spock cringed, trying to move away, but since his head was again gripped in Sovik’s large hands, he could only close his eyes. Those words were not true...they were lies, just like the lies that had just assaulted his lips. He did not belong to Sovik, and that kiss did not belong to them. He was enraged by the way Sovik had referred to them as us. This was not a conjoined effort that Spock had, in any way, consented to.

As well, how dare Sovik taint Jim’s name in such a horrendous way. By speaking it, he was dragging his image into the room, causing Spock to remember his beloved captain in perfect detail. As soon as he saw Jim standing in his mind, he felt his heart lurch in the most painful way.

While Spock had been distracted by the words that were still humming in his ears, Sovik placed his fingers tensely against his meld points, sinking into his consciousness as his hips grinded against him violently.

Disgusted at what he had found, Sovik gritted his teeth together, feeling the thoughts of Jim surround the both of them. He was absolutely revolted at Spock’s dedication to the human. The way he adored him and honored him caused a burning rage of jealousy to overcome him, and he could feel himself tearing his fingers from Spock’s paling face, as he bore his eyes down towards him angrily. He would make him forget the captain… he would be sure of it.

Sovik gripped Spock by the arms and violently shoved his body over so that Spock’s face was pressed against the headboard and the pillows. He now had a glorious view of Spock’s rear, and he took advantage of it, kneading the globes of his ass with his fingers, spreading them and occasionally slapping his palm against it.

Spock tried to bring himself off the bed, his fear reaching its maximum once he realized just how far Sovik was willing to go. He tried desperately to push the Vulcan off him, but this just pleased Sovik all the more.

“You will be still!” Sovik grabbed Spock’s hands, pinning them behind his back so that he had very little ability to wave them around and risk injuring himself. He then, lowered himself, biting Spock’s protruding shoulder blade hard. “You miss your captain?” He bitterly spoke, his penis sliding into the cleft of Spock’s ass. “I will show you just how much that displeases me.”

“No,” Spock accidentally whispered, his fingers going rigid against his own back, trying hard to somehow point them towards Sovik and possibly jab it into him painfully. However, his digits no longer possessed the strength they did, and he could barely keep them standing straight.

“Your captain is weak! He is selfish!” Sovik steadied his penis against Spock’s clenched hole. Spock was completely unprepared for any sort of anal penetration, and so he foolishly thought that by clenching the muscles there, he could somehow stop Sovik from entering him in the most personal and distressful way.

“I am quite fortunate, Spock.” The way he spoke his name felt dangerous to him, and Spock merely whimpered out a cry, his body shaking uncontrollably. “I will be the first to take you like this. I will mark you, claim you, and the captain will know his place. He will never desire you again.”

With those words, Sovik began to press into him, barely managing to pop the head into Spock’s constricted hole, thanks to the copious amount of precum. The heat of Spock body caused Sovik to groan out with pleasure which only made matters worse..

Pain. That was all Spock could manage to feel at the moment. Sovik’s words meant nothing. Jim’s glowing PADD on the table meant nothing. Only the feeling of intrusion was present, and Spock let out a scream of pain, trying even more urgently to remove himself from the bed.

“Be silent!” Sovik screamed back, wrapping his fingers around Spock’s head, clamping them down over the mouth. “You will allow me to fill you, and to pleasure you.”

Impossible. Completely impossible and illogical. There was absolutely no way in the galaxy that Spock would be able to force himself to enjoy this act of torture, not when he felt so pathetic, so powerless, so used. There hadn’t been a moment in his life that he had felt so insignificant. And though he had experienced emotional, as well as minor physical torment as a child among the other children, none of it could compare to this moment in his life. None of the name-calling, the shoving, the poking, and the aggressive language could compare to Sovik’s scorching hot body impaling him in such a way.

Tears came uncontrollably, and Spock worked hard on trying to clench his muscles and to still his quivering body. He would not risk movements that could possibly be misinterpreted as a response of enjoyment. He would not risk giving Sovik the attention he was demanding. As well, he was biting his lip, unsure whether or not he had pierced the skin there from how strong he was chomping down on it. He tried to silence himself in vain, hoping that he could hang on to the last bit of his Vulcan heritage as he could. At the moment, he had never felt so human.

Sovik grunted as his flesh burned against the walls of his impossible tight channel, making Spock wish for a moment that he had let that tongue enter into him, at least to act as a form of lubrication so that they could have avoided the dry, stinging sensation. But how could he wish for such a violation? How could he wish for Sovik to have taken that dignity away from him. No, he would endure the burn and be thankful that he hadn’t experienced more of the dreaded tongue.

About half of Sovik’s member was buried into him, and Spock couldn’t hold back another cry. The tears were streaming down his pale cheeks, and dampening the pillows below him. There had been so many areas of his body where he questioned the presence of blood, but Spock was absolutely sure that it was staining the sheets he had been peacefully dreaming away in moments ago.

“Stop, stop, please, it is painful!” Spock finally vocalized, forgetting and not caring how unVulcan he sounded. At the moment, all that mattered was survival, and he felt as though if he let Sovik enter him anymore, he would be completely finished.

Sovik could not hold himself back, and attempted to swing his hips forward, successfully spearing the younger, weaker Vulcan beneath him. Pleasure surged through him as he felt his instincts being satisfied with every tightening inflection in Spock’s body.

Hands tightened onto Spock’s narrow hips, leaving dotted bruises, as Sovik pulled his body closer to his. Since Sovik was no longer pushing his arms behind his back, Spock brought them underneath himself, lifting himself onto his palms. He could feel every painful inch of Sovik’s length inside of him, and he finally discovered that trying to physically reject the intrusion only made it all the more painful.

Spock’s arms shuddered under him from the weight of Sovik, as well as his own body. His skin, his muscles, his entire mind felt as if it were crumbling. His fingers clawed their way into the blanket, trying to ground himself from the stinging sensation in his backside, where Sovik was moaning and expressing his deep fulfillment. It welled up feelings of shame and irritation from Spock--the idea that Sovik was deriving such pleasure from something that was hurting him so deeply.

The hurt went far beyond the dark green bruises and the raw patches that littered his skin… it went so much further. He felt completely broken, shattered from having been violated and handled in such a demeaning way. He didn’t feel Vulcan at all, which was all Spock had ever wanted to identify himself as. As the tears ripped away from his eyes and stained the blanket he slept with every night, he couldn’t have felt more human.

Sovik scrunched the robes further up Spock’s back, running his hand over the newly exposed flesh and scratching over it passionately as he eagerly began slamming his hips harder into Spock’s rear. The sudden increase in the pace brought another unceremonious cry from Spock, arching his back in agony.

“Stop, _please,_ ” Spock panicked, wondering if he was going to get out of this situation without permanent damage. It was probably unlikely, but he could not be certain with the searing pain cutting through him. He couldn’t discern between Sovik’s penis and a jagged knife. It felt all the same.

Now Sovik was speechless. His voice only containing choppy breaths and grunts. The more vocal Sovik became, the more intense his thrusting became. He could feel Sovik reaching deeper and deeper inside him, his fingers clawing his spine. Spock closed his eyes, feeling as though his eyes were weakly rolling back. His arms couldn’t bear to stand his weight as they had been, and so Spock dropped himself, burying his face into his arms, sobbing quietly.

Sovik’s hips now began pummeling, driving Spock further up the bed until his head was hitting against the frame. He could feel the headache he had already willed away begin to reform once again.

His throat began to hurt from concealing his cries as well as releasing a few imperative ones. It felt scratchy and raw, just as every inch of his body was beginning to feel. His shields finally fell completely, shattering from the onslaught of emotions accumulating. He no longer could contain his words.

“Sovik! Sovik! I beg you!” He cried out, lifting his head, and trying to get back onto his hands, but Sovik shoved him down once again into the mattress. He then held onto Spock’s hips, lifting them so that he could drive even deeper into his victim.

Spock’s toes curled, the pain bolted from his rear, and ran up his spine. He could not escape it no matter which way he moved his body.

Sovik’s movements became even faster, causing Spock’s eyes to widen. He couldn’t believe that it was possible to achieve such a speed, but the scorching heat coming off of Sovik reminded him of what had driven all of this. The time of pon farr was unforgiving and demanding.

Yet, even in this time, Spock could not forgive Sovik for what he was doing. He had boarded a starship, had not given any warning of his condition, and was now using Spock as a conduit of his sexual aggressions. Even during this time, Vulcans should have enough will to reject such things, unless Sovik had suppressed the instinct for too long. In which case, Spock would still be angry. Sovik had a duty to his own team, as well as the safety of the Enterprise to warn them.

Sovik became more heated, his pace picking up once again, and his one hand gripping his thin hip and the other yanking on his hair violently. As he pulled, Spock’s body was forcibly impaled further onto Sovik’s assertive flesh.

The tears were uncontrollable at this point, and Sovik slinked his hand around his head and ran his nails down Spock’s face, muffling Spock’s whimpers by covering his mouth. In one motion he pulled Spock onto his knees, his erection never slipping from Spock’s bleeding posterior. He now had Spock’s rigid back pressed into his chest. Sovik could feel Spock’s breathing, the way his chest expanded and decompressed. His hands rested over his ribs maliciously, and began scraping his nails there too.

“Sovik,” Spock whispered, trying not to cry now that Sovik’s head was resting on his shoulder. He didn’t want him to know how badly he had broken him. If he knew, he would not be reluctant to try again since it would no doubt be _easier_ the second time if he knew how broken he was.

Sovik did not allow Spock to attempt another plea, and he seized Spock’s lips with his fingers, pinching them together and shaming Spock further.

Spock practically bounced on and off of Sovik’s length, causing for Spock to slip his lips from Sovik’s hand and bite down on it harshly. He couldn’t allow Sovik to leave here today without a mark on him. He hoped to place one there and have Sovik remember forever what he had done here today. To remind him of the pain he had caused.

The act of defiance rewarded Spock with a fierce blow to the head, knocking Spock forward onto the bed, holding his head in pain. Sovik removed himself from Spock’s bloody entrance, and rammed his fingers into the sore opening, inserting and scissoring them cruelly.

Sovik then tossed Spock over one last time so that he could peer into Spock’s bloodshot eyes. He looked over how they appeared like glass, and the way his cheeks were glowing a bright green. It pleased Sovik to no end.

Though he didn’t wish for Spock to inform others of what had happened to him, he did wish that Spock would walk around with these markings, to show the entire ship-- especially the captain, of what he had achieved. Of how he was able to receive this from Spock, and Jim wasn’t.

Spock whimpered loudly, looking up into Sovik’s eyes pleadingly. He wanted this all to end. All of it. He wanted to have his past strength, to be able to knock the older Vulcan back onto the bed, and to free himself. He wanted to walk through the joined bathroom between his quarters and his captain’s, and he wanted to sink into Jim’s arms. He had had enough of this treatment. He required Jim’s calming, supportive embrace.

However, he felt like if he had been given the option to flee into Jim’s quarters, he would not take it. He could not face his captain in this condition. Not when he felt like he was dying on the inside. His mind was weak, his body throbbed in pain, and he did not wish for Jim to see him with tears racing down his cheeks. No. He could not face his brave Jim after _this_.

Hands once again met with Spock’s worn out psi points, and he felt the familiarity of Sovik’s mind on his. It disturbed him how effortlessly Sovik could do this now. As he felt Sovik lacing his mind, he could also feel him entering him with an intense vigour that only a Vulcan in heat could possess.

‘ _Please, stop, Sovik_ ,’ Spock begged through the link, his eyes looking up at Sovik’s shamefully, and watching as his ankles rested on broad shoulders bouncing in rhythm with Sovik’s movements. He groaned from the pain, from feeling as if he were bending and breaking in half.

 _‘More, deeper, harder, faster. Spock. Spock. Nothing but you, Spock. Forever.’_ However, even in those silent words, Spock could feel an uneasiness, a sort of emptiness in the bond, and he reached his juddering hand to Sovik’s face, trying to still his hands over the Vulcan’s psi points.

A hard smack knocked his hand back onto the bed, and Spock could not find the energy to lift it again. He instead, turned the palms downwards against the mattress below, and tightened his fingers into it, rooting himself against Sovik’s movements.

It was probably for the best that he could not see or feel what was in Sovik’s mind. He did not need to further feel the lust and desire Sovik bore for him. He did not need to experience the torture he was experiencing from a different angle.

The penetrating went on for some time, and Sovik’s mind rested in his for a good portion of it. When he finally removed his consciousness from Spock’s, he then focussed on achieving his orgasm instead. The sounds of flesh smacking flesh, and mattress springs creaking, was all Spock could hear, as he felt himself losing a grip on what was and what wasn’t. He could feel himself slipping mentally from the world of pain that surrounded him.

He could have easily laid there like that for hours and not even have realized it. He was so disoriented from the experience of being ripped apart. He tried to close his eyes, clearing his throat painfully before lulling his head back into the pillows.

Sovik pulled Spock’s head up from behind his neck, making encouraging hums and moans of pleasure and satisfaction. It was hard for Spock to stay awake now, even with being moved around like a toy. He slumped his chin forward, and then jolted it back up when Sovik pushed into him at a particularly unpleasant angle.

He could already feel the release of semen, but he was not expecting this to be over any time soon. During this time, Vulcans could go hours, releasing their seed numerous times in copious amounts. He believed Sovik and he would be like this for some time.

And he was right.

Sovik continued relentlessly. Spock was uncertain of how long he had been going for, but he had experienced Sovik release himself within him, flooding his insides with his thick seed, and causing Spock to experience a stinging sensation in all the places Sovik had bruised and cut him. He could locate every injury with perfect accuracy. It would be a while until he was able to mend those wounds with meditation.

Spock could feel himself running in and out of consciousness. At times, he could not feel Sovik at all, or anything for that matter. Other moments, he was gifted with a sharp pain from either Sovik’s hands, groin, or teeth. He would wake up only to be reminded of the hell he was still enduring.

Finally, Sovik held onto his hips with a sense of finality, making a loud slapping noise as he did. He then entered him entirely, pushing until his testicles met with the globes of Spock’s ass. Spock’s eyes opened wide, from the new depth that Sovik was reaching. He looked into Sovik’s eyes as they clouded over with pleasure, and he could see ecstasy and relief overcoming the Vulcan. As Spock glanced down briefly, he could see where he and Sovik were connected, and it made his stomach turn furiously.

A strangled moan filled the air, ringing in Spock’s ears and causing him to flinch from the power of it. He felt disgusting for having caused that noise, for having caused Sovik’s pleasure--hating himself for having let that happen to him.

No, he didn’t consent to it; that was not how he had encouraged this. He should have listened to Jim. He should have recognized Sovik’s infatuation. He should have never allowed his doors to be opened for visitors, and he should have never let Jim leave his side. But Sovik was in his pon farr… and perhaps he wasn’t to blame. Perhaps it was entirely his own fault.

Spock could feel himself fill with Sovik’s essence, emptying himself of the final drops. Spock felt so incredibly full, and could even feel some the pressure building and even releasing some of the semen as Sovik thrusted lazily a few more times. Finally, Sovik removed himself, peering down at the blood that stained Spock’s robes and blanket. He made no expression of remorse; in fact, Spock believed Sovik appeared to approve of his work, as if he had finished painting a masterpiece onto Spock’s abused body.

Spock hadn’t anticipated Sovik touching him again, so when Sovik ran a finger over his dark green, and abused hole, pressing the end in gently, he was shocked. He felt Sovik, dabbing his finger into the blood and the come that was now trickling out. Spock could not contain it, his entire body to exhausted to clench those muscles again.

Slowly, Spock closed his eyes again, tears escaping as he did so. As he lied there breathing heavily, he felt Sovik’s finger enter his mouth, coated in the substances he had been dreading to look at until he was forced to wash it away. As soon as the fingers had entered, Spock pushed the distasteful fluids out in a ball of saliva, letting it run down his chin and onto his neck. He was far too fatigued to wipe it clean.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

He didn’t even realize Sovik had left the bed, and was fumbling with his pants. When he did finally come to, Sovik was properly dressed and looking down at him. He was once again looking over his work, admiring the bruises as if they were plaques of his achievement.

Very carefully, Spock shifted his legs, closing them, and then folding them as he turned his body to face the opposite side from Sovik. He covered himself with his robes again, trying to avoid all contact with him. He did not wish to look into those eyes, or to see those hands. He didn’t want to think about what he had just endured ever again.

The room was silent, which made Spock feel even more weary and self-conscious about what had transpired. Contrasted with the dreaded sounds of sexual intercourse, the silence was oddly louder. Spock could not handle it, especially knowing that Sovik was a mere five feet away from him.

“You will not speak of this to others.” Sovik spoke so calmly that Spock almost turned to face him, to see if his expression was equally as inappropriate. Yet he still could not bear to look at him.

“You will not speak of this to the captain, as well you will not speak of this to the RU-598 group. You have a responsibility to remain silent, and to go about your work as usual. You will also assist me in the labs at 17:00.” He could hear ruffling, the sounds of Sovik moving.

Spock was relieved that he had covered his body with his robe once again. He didn’t want Sovik to look at him, even though he now knew every intimate detail of his body. He still could not bear the idea of those eyes looking over his misused persons. He was having enough trouble trying to hide the fact that he was shivering violently. He didn’t want to give Sovik the sick privilege of knowing he roused such emotions from him. He was Vulcan, and he could… _would_... control himself.

“And you know what will happen if you do,” Sovik’s voice trailed off threateningly. Spock was not certain of course, but he could feel Sovik distancing himself, and growing closer and closer to the door from where he had barged in.

 _‘Starfleet will lose the Renneral. Starfleet with drop my rank. Starfleet will demote the captain. Sovik will hurt the captain.’_ Spock shivered, tears steaming powerfully down his face. He was once again pleased that he had turned his body from Sovik’s, clutching onto his arms to try to brace himself to stop the shaking.

As if Sovik had listened Spock’s thoughts, he heard him exit quietly, only the sounds of the doors swishing open and closed signalled the departure. Once Sovik was gone, Spock brought his hands over his face, massaging his eyes tenderly as Jim often did, slipping slightly in the wetness of his tears. He could feel his cheeks stinging from the mighty impact of Sovik’s hand. As he glanced down he could see his once cherished Vulcan robes tattered with semen and blood. He wasn’t entirely sure how the fluids had traveled up that way, but he was sure it had happened when he was out cold. The thought of his unconscious body being somebody else’s plaything, made Spock clench his jaw in anger. Yet, what was the difference between his conscious body being treated in such a way, and his unconscious body? He was equally powerless either way.

However, he was numb with pain, shock and disgust. He was far too ashamed of all the injuries he had sustained at the moment to escape to the bathroom and wash it all off. An odd feeling of disorientation came over him, and for a moment he could not recognize himself. His body was foreign, his pain was present, and yet not his own. It was as if he had watched the entire thing, and he was disgusted.

Spock softened his features, the tears moving freely now. He would forever hate these clothes. He would never sleep in this bed the same way again. And he would never be able to look at himself the same. Never again would he find peace in meditating here.

The threats that Sovik had made were not as effective as Sovik had probably hoped. Spock knew that there was most likely a way he could inform Starfleet of the incident, and apply heavy duty security to watch over Jim. However, it would not be that easy to come forth and admit to what had happened. He risked the respect of his crew, the respect from Starfleet, as well as his dear captain. He would have to admit to misconduct, and having sexual relations with what was meant to be guests on their ship. He would have to admit to giving himself to someone other than Jim...

And it hit Spock again. How he would never be able to look Jim in the eyes without thinking about what he had given to Sovik. How he would never be able to fully belong to Jim in every sense. How he desired to bond himself entirely to Jim and Jim alone, and not have had sexual affairs with others. Jim would no doubt find this fact repulsive, just as he did, and he would have to say goodbye to their chess matches, goodbye to their long walks, goodbye to their close encounters, if he chose to tell the truth.

As taxing as these thoughts were for Spock, and as badly as he wished to rid himself of the filth that sheathed him, he felt himself berated with a migraine that he had never experienced to such a degree making him _almost_ forget. He pleaded with himself not to fall asleep, even though moments ago he had begged for it, as well as desperately required it. He hated to admit to it, but he was afraid to sleep. Afraid of what he might see, feel, or hear again. Dreams were not real, and so it was illogical to fear them to such a degree, but the fear he felt was all too real.

Spock knew how real dreams could appear. He had dreamt about his captain on multiple occasions in various scenarios that were quite pleasing. Visiting strange worlds together, enjoying a game of chess, walking the sands of Vulcan. He had envisioned these things and had wondered if he had actually experienced them since they seemed so real. If his dreams could enclose such authenticity, he was sure his nightmares would do the same.

Tears silently fell from his face, bleeding into the mattress beneath him. He could not move or stop himself from shivering. He had never experienced such shame. Shame over his body and his mind from being touched by Sovik. And though there was very little Spock could do to stop it, he felt as though he should have.

Just as Spock felt himself begin to ease slightly into the blanket, almost tempted to pull the putrid cloth over him, he heard a noise from across the room. The familiar whistle of the intercom. It had been a very rare thing for somebody to call him at such late hours, and so he found it extremely odd.

What was even more odd, was how Spock ignored it, his eyes dropping more tears into the pillows. He pulled the pillow closer to his head so that he was resting on it fully and crying into it without a single noise.

Spock reached his hand over to the nightstand, using his last bit of energy in his attempt to retrieve Jim’s personal PADD. He brought the device into his chest, unsure why he desired to do so so badly, but he felt such a need to do it. He cradled it, and hugged it. His eyes were open, his mind restless and scared.

He would receive very little sleep that morning. It was unfortunate, but it was true. He heard the noises of the intercom sound throughout his room, but he couldn’t make the effort to stand and answer. His hands trembled over the cold surface of the PADD.

Spock was beginning to feel Sovik’s words hammering into him. Since he clearly was not meant for Vulcan, and he was not accepted on Earth, Spock had only himself. It would be selfish for him to take Jim away from another being. Especially since Spock would never be able to say _I Love You_ , like Jim probably wanted. He would not be able to express the things Jim needed and required. Spock felt guilty for ever believing that him and Jim could have something special.

He loved Jim, and though he felt remorse for having been blind to those feelings, he was glad it had taken him that long to figure them out. Perhaps if he had accepted these prohibited fantasies, he would have kissed Jim in the observation deck when he had serenaded him. He would have kissed Jim in the turbolift one of the thousand times they rode in it together. He would have embraced Jim in the botany room and planted kisses along his neck and chest. It was good it hadn’t reached that point. For if it had, Spock would have been in a world of hurt that was incomparable to the one he felt now.

If he could not have Jim as a lover… he wanted him as a friend at least. He wanted him as a source of comfort. Someone who he could rest his head on and cry. Someone who he could merely look in the eyes, and feel a sense of bravery and confidence that only Jim could provide him. He wanted that more than he wanted to breathe.

Since Jim was likely sleeping and comfortable in the next room, Spock didn’t dare to bother him. The PADD would have to do as a substitute for his… his _t’hy’la’s_ … welcoming touch.

Which had roused a thought in Spock’s mind. The t’hy’la bond. How strong had it become? How much of it did Jim have access to? If he could somehow, at all, feel the pain that he was experiencing at the moment, then he would no doubt have to purge it. He would have to destroy the link to save his dearest friend’s sanity. And yet, as Spock laid there, clutching the PADD in his hands, he was completely unable to do so. No part of Spock wanted to destroy such a wonderful thing that he and Jim had developed.

No. Spock could not destroy it now. After so much had been taken from him there in his quarters, he could not part with that as well. Like Jim’s personal PADD, Spock would have to hold on to that bond as long as he was able to… at least until the morning.

Silence enveloped the room, and Spock laid in the mess of what had transpired, gripping what belonged to Jim, wearing his tattered meditation robe, and weeping as he replayed his rape over and over again in his mind. _“I have just been raped. Sovik has just raped me.”_                          

\-                                                           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all my readers for being amazing, and for supporting me. You guys are the reason this story goes on :)
> 
> LLAP friends <3


	10. Are You Doing Okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my wonderful, fantastic beta plaidshirtjimkirk, for giving me GREAT advice on this chapter and helping me catch a few big plot holes!!! she's literally the best and I couldn't ask for a better beta than her. I highly recommend her collection of ficlets titled "Written in the Stars!" It's absolutely perfect! <333333 
> 
> This chapter's title was inspired by the song "Kristy Are You Doing Okay?" by The Offspring.
> 
> I want to thank you all!

**Are You Doing Okay?**

 

Jim pushed the corn stock out from his face, peering around into the next row urgently. He could feel a pulsing drive to find _something, somewhere_ in these fields. But he could not seem to locate it no matter how many rows he diligently passed over. As it was, he couldn’t even locate the edge of the field.

The deeper he progressed into the field, the more coarse the leaves of the cobs became. Jim could now feel his hands, his neck, and even his waist, raw and sore from the intense battering from the thick leaves. It felt as if he was covered with the burn of a thousand paper cuts from his head to his toes.

However, the pain did not stay for long, and eventually, Jim was able to find a place in the field where he was finally able to escape the tall stocks. A large patch of dirt, about two meters wide in diameter, gave Jim the opportunity to finally sit down and relax.

As he sat, Jim couldn’t help but feel a sort of emptiness. He supposed it was a longing for freedom from the thick brush he had managed to get lost in. It was bizarre, this feeling he had coming over him, but as he began to pant from the heat he experienced, Jim felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. _Something_ was wrong, something was terribly terribly wrong and Jim was completely lost as to what it was.

A strange noise distracted his mind. _Beep, beep, beep._ He stood up quickly, compelled to look up until Jim felt his eyes opening to the sight of bright white light. It was just as painful to peer into as the Terran sun.  

His eyes eased open, scanning the room quickly before slowly shutting them again. After a few moments of regaining the strength to open them once again, Jim was now examining the sickbay he was comfortably situated in, breathing heavily through his nose.

A demanding pain came crashing into his head, causing him to attempt to bring his hands to his brow; however, this proved difficult once Jim realized his mind had awaken before his body.

From above him and slightly off to the right, Jim heard McCoy speaking to somebody who was at the other end of the room. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” McCoy sounded aggravated, his voice facing the opposite direction from him.

It would have been nice to of been properly welcomed into consciousness with something on the lines of, “ _Thank God you’re ok, Captain!”_ or “ _We were so worried about you_!” However, McCoy was never one for clichés.  

Jim moaned, hoping to gain some sort of attention from the doctor since he didn’t believe he had the energy to actually speak up. He shuffled in the soft blanket that swaddled him, finally opening his eyes again. He could now clearly see McCoy’s figure standing above him. The longer he looked up toward the doctor, the better he could make out the details of his face and he knew that McCoy was looking down at him amusedly.  

“Well, look who decided to wake up.” McCoy smirked down at Jim pleasantly. He then ran his medical tricorder over top of Jim’s body, gathering the necessary readings. “How are you feeling?”

The captain brought his hand to his forehead again, applying pressure to it in order to somehow alleviate the pain he felt there. Slowly, Jim brought his fingers to his eyes, massaging them. “Other than this migraine, I’m okay,” Jim mumbled, finally removing his hand so that he could look at the doctor.

“Don’t do that,” McCoy griped, looking up at Jim’s readings above the bed. “You have a minor concussion, Jim.”

Jim looked up at McCoy in alarm, dropping his hand over his abdomen as he attempted to bring himself into a sitting position.

“Don’t do that either!” McCoy pushed on Jim’s chest, settling him back into the bed gently. He raised his eyebrow at his captain. “Didn’t you listen to a word I said?”

“What happened?” Jim finally questioned with a sigh. He looked up towards the ceiling trying to piece together the events that had lead to him waking up in sickbay with a concussion.

McCoy lowered the tricorder, then eventually motioned for Nurse Chapel to take it from him. She had obviously been the individual McCoy had been speaking to when his voice was carrying earlier. Jim wasn’t at all surprised. Christine and McCoy had an interesting relationship. They were either extremely close as friends, often bringing the each other meals from the mess hall and sharing them in his office during their breaks, or they were bickering and cursing one another. Then again, Jim wasn’t sure McCoy had _any_ relationships in which said bickering and cursing didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” McCoy exhaled. “The only thing we’re _sure_ of is that you were found unconscious on deck five with a concussion. Other than that, we’re not positive as to _why_ yet.”

“So you don’t know?” Jim asked hesitantly.

Steadily, McCoy shook his head. “We’re just not one hundred percent sure,” McCoy swiped his finger across the PADD to view more of Jim’s results. The room fell silent for a moment. “Did you eat anything last night?”

What was once an expression of concern turned into a look of exasperation. He felt it was just like McCoy to jump to such a conclusion. And though the accusation was indeed true, Jim hadn’t eaten anything the night before, it was just his luck to have fainted that particular day.

“Bones, I don’t think..” Jim started before McCoy once again cut him off.

“Don’t tell me, you don’t _think_ that’s why you passed out and bumped your head.” McCoy challenged with both brows raised to convey his attitude.

There was no response from the captain. He tightly pursed his lips together as he watched McCoy’s expression grow smug.

“Your blood pressure was one hundred fifty over ninety,” McCoy explained, glancing down to the PADD in his hand periodically.

Jim’s eyebrow raised, but otherwise, his expression remained the same.

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t pass out sooner,” McCoy trailed off, setting the PADD on the nightstand once again. “With you skipping meals, worrying about every living soul on this ship except yourself...”

“It’s in my job description to worry.” Jim smirked softly, relaxing into the bed.

“No,” McCoy protested. “No, it’s not Jim. Things like stress, lack of sleep, and lack of eating can cause your blood pressure to increase, and high blood pressure isn’t good for your health.”

It wasn’t easy for Jim to hold back rolling his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate McCoy’s concern over his health; after all, it was in _McCoy’s_ job description to worry about things like that. However, it was frustrating. This hadn’t been the first time McCoy had given him a hard time about his stress levels and the amount of sleep he was getting.

 

“I’ve been eating and sleeping just as much as I normally do,” Jim insisted, wanting desperately to bring his hand up to his head and cradle it.

“Yeah, but you didn’t know Sovik before,” McCoy countered with a very faint smile. It was obvious that they had both detested Sovik to some degree, and if Jim could be honest, he was glad that him and his doctor shared that outlook.

A few moments passed before the doctor pressed on, “Do you remember anything?”

Jim physically shut his eyes, trying to recall his last intact memory.

He recalled Spock, standing in the hall across from Sovik, both their expressions tense. That was all Jim managed to gather from the previous day. There had been something that happened between the two Vulcans that had caused both of them to scowl in each other’s direction. Yet, this memory alone was insignificant in helping him figure out why exactly he was found unconscious on the floor.

Perhaps--as what was most likely--he had intervened between the two Vulcans in some way. It would not surprise him that he would have been roused into violence in such a manner by Sovik. However, with all these conspiracies aside, Jim was absolutely certain about one thing: at some point before his _accident_ , Spock and Sovik had been in some interaction that was unpleasant.

“I remember something about Spock and Sovik,” Jim told McCoy with a frustrated grunt. He was growing angrier with his failing memory. What was Spock doing in that hall? Why was he so unhappy with Sovik? How did this all lead to him unconscious on deck five? Why couldn’t Jim remember?

McCoy almost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t at all surprised that that had been all Jim could recall of the moments before his blackout. Another sigh huffed out of his lips, and he continued, looking down at Jim, “See that’s what I was afraid of. You’re so worked up over that Vulcan, you’re forgetting about more important things, like your health.”

An eyebrow raised on Jim’s face, reminding McCoy of how Spock had claimed that gesture. It must have been all that time that Jim had started spending with the Vulcan. McCoy smiled slightly at the idea of Jim and Spock interchanging mannerisms from all their years together.  

“Focussing on the RU-598 crew, including Sovik, is my job right now,” Jim grumbled, finally sobering enough to sit up in the bed slightly. McCoy leaned his arm forward in case the man needed his assistance; however, Jim assured him that he was alright in doing it himself.

“I know.” McCoy nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “But Starfleet doesn’t need you following Sovik around and causing trouble with him, and thus hurting yourself.” McCoy rounded the bed and met with Nurse Chapel who was sterilizing some equipment by Jim’s head. “Prepare a dose of acetaminophen, about 400 mg, 10 tabs.”

Jim smiled softly at McCoy. “Did you just prescribed me Tylenol?”

“Didn’t you hear me, Jim? You have a minor concussion. There’s not much else I can do for you other than acetaminophen.” He bit back at Jim playfully. “Haven’t you ever had a concussion before?”

The memory started fading in for Jim. Playing out in the backyard with his brother Sam, daring one another to do a variety of dangerous stunts to impress the other. As Jim’s turn came to be dared, he had to climb to the very top of one of their oak trees and tie one of their father’s old ties to the top branch, sort of like a flag to mark unchartered land. Since Jim was as determined back in the day as he was now, he took the dare as nothing to get too excited about, until he reached about five meters off the ground. There, he had slipped on a rotting piece of bark, and came crashing down to the dirt below.

Yes, was the short answer--Jim had encountered a number of concussions in his day.

Frustration once again bubbled within the captain. Why was it that he was able to recall memories from his early childhood, and yet he couldn’t remember what had happened the moments leading up to his accident.

“You are to rest, and recover in relaxation, ” McCoy explained. “For the next couple of hours I want you to take it easy, and that means not associating yourself with Sovik, or the Renneral, or anything to do with the RU-598 group.”

Jim nodded lamely. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

McCoy shook his head sympathetically at Jim. “We tried to recover the video surveillance in the hall you were found in, but it was inoperative just like almost every surveillance camera on the ship.”

“They’re still out?” Jim asked, itching to rub the sore spot on his head.

Instantly, McCoy’s eyes darted towards his drolly. “How long do you think you’ve been out for?” Jim’s concerned expression was enough to tell the doctor that he hadn’t even considered the question.

“A few hours Jim, it’s only been a few hours.”

Stiffly, Jim cleared his throat, returning to their previous conversation casually. “Scotty hasn’t fixed them yet?” Jim questioned out loud, angering himself once again for his impeccable memory for everything _but_ the incident. “Is he fixing them now?”

McCoy nodded. “He’s fixing them. Engineering is going through everything in their department to see if something is wrong in there.”

“We’ll probably have to change course for the nearest Starbase,” Jim mumbled more to himself than to McCoy. “I know Sovik isn’t going to like that very much,”

It took all of the doctor’s will not to roll his eyes again, “Jim, if you’re not going to listen to me, then get the hell out of my sickbay. I said don’t worry so much about Sovik!”

Jim, turned a humorous smirk at the doctor. “Can you put me through to the bridge?” Jim asked, turning his legs off of the bed. He sat up straight and silently got over the nausea that was taking over from his sudden upright position.

Christine came behind the doctor, handing him a small cylindrical bottle. “Doctor.”

“Thank you, Nurse.” McCoy clutched the bottle as he brought the communicator system over towards Jim. Without complaining, he contacted the bridge.

“Bridge, this is Captain Kirk,” Jim spoke through it, wincing from the discomfort of trying to stretch out the knots in his back.

“Bridge here, Captain. Are you alright?” Uhura asked, her voice genuine and dripping with concern.

“I am,” Jim responded just as the call began to grow fuzzy with static. “I need to know where the nearest Starbase is.”

A slight pause came over the other side, both Jim and McCoy uncertain whether it was a failure in the communication device or if it was Uhura carrying out her orders. Before Jim could open his mouth to ask McCoy to try a different unit, Uhura chimed back in.

“Starbase one seventy nine, Sir.”

“How far is it, Lieutenant?” Jim asked, rubbing his eyes once again.

“About,” Uhura paused for a moment, computing the accuracy of the number spewed out by the computer. “Three Earth days away.”

Jim groaned, “Alright. Can you put me through to Admiral Reid?”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

The room fell silent for a moment, giving Jim the opportunity to finally yawn and stretch. McCoy had finally offered Jim a bit of privacy with his call, working a couple paces away from him while preparing a hypo for another patient.

“Captain, this better be good,” Admiral Reid snapped  through the com unit. He sounded overbearing with worry and distress. “Don’t tell me something happened to that Renneral.”

“No, Admiral,” Jim replied with a forced tone of assurance. He was in no mood to pretend as if he enjoyed this new assignment with the RU-598 group or any of its crew. However, Jim knew how Reid felt about the project and he couldn’t risk sounding unpleasant when referring to it.

“The Enterprise is experiencing some technical difficulties, including the loss of our surveillance cameras,” Jim explained calmly, “which can be dangerous, considering I’ve already been…”

“Captain Kirk!” Reid interrupted heatedly. “Is your chief Engineer not able to fix it?”

“My Chief Engineer is working on it, but it doesn’t seem to be a problem on board our ship.”

There was another pause on the other end of the conversation, and Jim couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t a communication failure. He knew that the Admiral was likely just frustrated by the hold up of the RU-598 project making its way back to Earth.

“What is your nearest Starbase?” Admiral Reid sigh heavily on the other end.

“It’s Starbase one seventy nine. It’s roughly three Earth days away from our current coordinates,” Jim answered.

“Captain,” Reid sounded stressed, “You are permitted to go to Starbase one seventy nine. But, I want your chief engineer, as well as all other engineering personnel working on fixing the problem! You are stealing valuable time from the RU-598 group!”

Jim admired the enthusiasm of the admiral, but the more he got to know the man, the more he realized how hard he was to get along with. As Jim recalled from the last major conversation, Reid had so much passion that, at times, Jim believed he would send a starship on his own to carry this team to their destination. Jim almost smiled at the thought. He certainly would not be opposed to such a thing. In fact, Jim would most definitely prefer it that way. Transporting individuals around the galaxy wasn’t considered _exciting_ work, by any means. Any starship could take a group of people from point A to point B, but he knew that the Enterprise was special. She ran on discovery, action, and crossing into territory that had never been seen before.

“Sir, it’s a danger to our crew as well as the RU-598 team if surveillance is not operational. As well, our inner ship communication devices have been faltering.” Jim’s patience was slowly deteriorating the longer the call went on.

“Captain Kirk, you don’t need to inform me of the dangers of not having surveillance aboard your ship.” Reid growled, “I just want the Enterprise to pick up speed as soon as the repairs are finished. I need this team here as soon as possible!”

“Yes, I’ve had a clear understanding of that from the beginning, Admiral.”

“And Kirk?” Reid added just as Jim was beginning to get excited by the end of the call. “If one more thing goes wrong, I will be forced to send another ship to your coordinates to pick up the team.”

It was almost as if Reid believed Jim had planned the entire malfunction--as if he truly believed that Jim purposely didn’t want the Federation to receive the RU-598 group and that he was going out of his way to displease them. It was an understatement to say that Jim was irritated by Reid, but he could not let it show through his voice. As much as he wished for Reid to send a ship his way to pick up the insatiable Vulcan and his team of scientists, Jim had a duty to Starfleet and the Federation to perform his duties to the best of his abilities.

“The Enterprise will not disappoint, Admiral. Kirk out.” Once communication was finally cut, Jim leaned back onto his hands, and peered over to McCoy who was now turned around and looking back at him with an equal expression of exasperation.

“You’re doing the right thing by going to starbase, Jim. If this power failure starts affecting communication or my equipment here in sickbay, or even worse, the engines, then we are dead in space.” McCoy approached the bed again.

Jim nodded his head, programming the com unit to send out an order to the bridge to contact the starbase for their arrival, as well as plotting a new course. After Jim had finished, he stood beside the bed groggily.

“So you really have no idea what happened to me?” Jim asked, rubbing his head gently. He wanted nothing more than to make his way back to his bed and relax as McCoy had initially suggested.

McCoy thought for a moment, looking over the spot Jim was rubbing on his head. “I don’t know, Jim. There’s no sign of foul play, at least none that I can see or pick up on my tricorder.”

“So you don’t think someone tried to attack me?” Jim questioned, finding the theory somewhat unlikely with a Vulcan like Sovik running free through his ship.

“I’m not saying anything for sure Jim. My _guess_ is that you fainted or passed out from something and you hit your head and _that’s_ what caused the concussion,” McCoy offered, handing Jim the prescription he had Christine make up for him. “Tomorrow you can start taking these tablets for any headaches. After you finish the bottle I want you to come back to me so I can give you the expert touch that concussion needs.” McCoy nonchalantly, half paying attention to Jim while recording the medical information into Jim’s file.

_‘He requires an expert touch.’_

Jim straightened his back out, looking over at McCoy with his eyes wide open. “Where’s Spock?” Jim questioned, recalling the memory of Sovik hissing into Jim’s face those very words. He remembered how chilling that remark had been and how it hadn’t settled pleasantly in his stomach afterwards.

“I’m not sure, Jim.” McCoy’s eyes were still looking over the PADD with Jim’s medical information. “I tried to com him while you were talking to Reid a while ago. But Spock didn’t answer.”

Jim, started moving towards the door. He wasn’t sure why he was so panicked over the lack of response from his first officer, but for some reason he felt an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, as if there was a growing distress within him. He felt like he couldn’t make it to his friend’s quarters fast enough.

“Jim!” McCoy called out. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The captain turned back toward the doctor, his eyes concerned and worried. “I’m going to go check up on…”

“No.” McCoy growled, “Jim, you need to stop being so concerned about Spock. He’s all grown up and can take care of himself.” He brought himself closer to Jim, his eyes scanning the man critically. “You? I’m not so sure about.”

He handed Jim the bottle of tablets that had been absentmindedly left on the table next to the bed. “My doctor’s orders, are that you stop worrying over your first officer, and just relax. Go have something to eat, take a nap, play a quiet game of chess if you have to do anything with Spock. But please, take care of yourself instead of wrecking yourself over him.”

Jim was quiet for some time, causing McCoy to slightly regret his terminology. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he had started feeling so deeply for his first officer. It wasn’t his fault that he had the unfortunate habit of falling for the wrong type of people. Jim had fallen for Spock, and though Jim might not have recognized it for himself, McCoy knew it was an inevitable truth.

“Thanks Bones.” Jim finally nodded, taking the prescription and then heading out the door with less urgency.

-

 

Deck five was unusually quiet. Though it was usually lacking in traffic, considering it was where chief officers’ quarters resided, it was still somewhat eerily silent. Perhaps it had been the aching pain in Jim’s head that had caused the creeping stillness in the hall.

Even Jim’s boots sounded distant. Every step he took in the corridor failed to produce an echo in return. It was odd for Jim to feel such a disorientation while also remaining conscious and aware. He blankly stared down the hall, and recognized his own quarters, followed by Spock’s door next to his own.

He was still quite a ways away from the doors, and as Jim  slowly walked towards them, he couldn’t help but feel anger as he passed through the space he had been found unconscious in hours ago. What had happened within these walls was still a mystery to him, and it was infuriating to think that Jim had been so vulnerable on the ground, at the hands of somebody he didn’t know. He did not believe McCoy’s theory. He trusted the doctor absolutely, but Jim did not believe he had suddenly fainted like that, especially with a character like Sovik walking around.

 _‘He requires an expert touch._ ’

The words were still strong and infectious within Jim. He couldn’t exactly piece together why Sovik had said this, and he wasn’t exactly sure when or where he had stated it, but he was certain it had been.

Perhaps it had been a threat directed towards Jim before he had been attacked. Maybe Sovik had threatened him with an _expert touch_ before applying some Vulcan mind method to incapacitate him. The more he thought about the idea of this, the more Jim wanted to find the Vulcan and reprimand him and contact Starfleet and possibly get this sick threat off his ship.

Yet, that was unlikely. Jim could not confront Sovik over matters that he had no proof of. Sovik would no doubt bring up a list of logical reasons why he was not the culprit, and Jim would have nothing but his frail memory to back him up. He lowered his gaze sadly, as he approached Spock’s quarters.

Jim hated to lose, but he hated to lose to someone like Sovik even more. He would have to find some evidence against Sovik to prove him guilty, but it would not happen overnight. At the moment, Jim only wanted to take McCoy’s advice. Except… not entirely. Jim couldn’t help but feel a bit concerned about Spock.

After a moment of pondering whether or not he should disturb Spock or not, Jim finally pressed the button on the right of the door, asking his friend permission on entering the room.

There was no response, just as there was no response to McCoy’s attempts at communication.

Jim pressed his finger into the button one more time, before physically knocking on the door. When there was no response, Jim tried accessing the room manually and was surprised to see that the door was not set on private, but rather was open for anyone to come in and out as they pleased. Jim felt himself well up with concern. That wasn’t like Spock.

When the door opened, Jim stepped in wearily, staying quiet for a moment to hear whether or not there was life within the room. When he heard quiet rustling, Jim finally decided to call out, “Spock? Are you here?”

Jim entered the dimly lit seating area, but from there, he could see past the mesh lining to Spock’s bed, as well where Spock was. When Jim entered into the doorway separating the two rooms, he noticed the way Spock was laying on his bed facing the opposite direction from where Jim was standing.

“Spock?” Jim asked softly into the darkness, taking an extra step into the room. Was Spock sleeping? If that were the case, he would leave without question. He remembered how desperately he was in need of rest, and he did not wish to deprive his friend of that.

Just as Jim was backing out, he could vaguely see Spock turn to face him quickly, his eyes wide and almost fearful. Jim could not believe what he was seeing, and so he took two big steps towards Spock, watching as he leaped out of the bed cautiously.

“What are you doing here?” Spock questioned, looking at every inch of Jim, except clearly avoiding the captain’s eyes. They both peered down to the PADD that was clutched in Spock’s hands.

It was odd behaviour from his first officer as well as his best friend. Jim couldn’t understand why he had stirred Spock so much. He wasn’t normally a jumpy individual, and he certainly never backed away from him as if he were some unavoidable threat.

“Spock.” Jim froze where he was, clearly stunned by the way he had reacted to seeing him. It felt like he was looking upon an injured kitten, shuffling as far away to safety as possible.

As they stood there, Spock gently eased into the wall, finally relaxing under Jim’s gaze. “Sir,” Spock whispered. “I was not expecting you.”

Jim peered around the room, looking at the way Spock’s blanket was now tossed onto the other side of the bed, the disheveled robes hanging from Spock’s body all wrinkled, and Spock’s hair completely out of place.

“Is something wrong, Spock?” Jim asked, his eyes dropping to the heavy rise and fall of Spock’s chest. He felt almost bad for scaring Spock the way he did… because that was what happened… wasn’t it? Spock was just surprised to see him.

“Jim, please,” Spock spoke under his breath, closing his eyes briefly. He looked down towards his bare feet, knowing that the robe was cleverly concealing the blood that was probably drying between his legs. Spock slightly shivered when he felt Jim approach him once again. His eyes instantly left his cold feet to stare towards his advancing captain.

“Please what, Spock?” Jim asked, wanting to reach a hand up to Spock’s hair to straighten out the strands. He knew more than anybody how Spock strived each and every day to present himself as proper and composed at all times. Even when the Enterprise experienced early morning red alerts, Spock managed to look as though he had woken up in the pristine condition he always wore.

 _“Please what, Spock? Forgive you? Give you more?”_ Sovik’s words came back into Spock’s consciousness, breaking his shields a little more as they batted against his mind. They hurt just as bad as they had the moment the Vulcan had first muttered those words.

Spock couldn’t form a response for Jim. He couldn’t get Sovik’s words out from his mind. The entire incident did not become easier for Spock, especially under the pressure of his captain’s presence so soon after.

“I will meet with you in the hall.” Spock finally settled for with a helpless sigh. His eyes were cleverly avoiding Jim’s. “I must clean myself, and change my attire.” His speech was quick and hesitant and Jim failed to remember a time when he had ever witnessed Spock like this. He had never seen him so lacking in confidence and so shaken since his Pon Farr.

Jim peered towards Spock’s avoidant gaze, and took another step towards the Vulcan, who was clearly in some form of distress. It would be so easy to hold Spock, to cradle him in his arms and whisper endearments to try and soothe him, but Jim thought against it. Perhaps that would not be the wisest decision when Spock was behaving like this.

“Are you feeling alright, Spock?” Jim asked, tilting his head to the right in confusion.

“Jim, I’ve made my request!” Spock snapped back, moving away from him and steadying his shaking hands onto the dresser. “If you wish to speak with me, we must do so in the hall.”

‘ _Why?_ ’ Jim wanted to ask. He wanted to move over to Spock’s side and ask him if he was not feeling well, if there had been something that had happened to him as well the night before. Apparently, those questions would have to wait. Spock was much too determined to ever be questioned in such a way.

“Spock,” Jim whispered back. “You know if anything is wrong, you can tell me,”

How promising those words had sounded to Spock. _‘Yes Jim! Something is wrong!_ ’ Spock wanted to say. He wanted every filthy secret to vacate his throbbing mind. How good it would feel to finally be free of the obscenities in his head and to replace them with the t’hy’la bond he was desperately trying to hide now. He no longer wanted to feel the remnants of Sovik’s deeds; he instead wanted Jim’s love and adoration to hug his very being.

Spock’s eyes met with Jim’s for a moment. They were now standing about an arm’s length away from one another, and Jim couldn’t help but wish that he could close the distance between them and embrace his dearest companion. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling such grief in Spock’s presence. It was as if he felt an emptiness inside his stomach… like someone had forced themselves into the pit of his stomach, and ripped something precious away. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

“Please,” Spock uttered quietly. “In the hall.”

“Spock,” Jim replied, bowing his head sadly. “I’m going to be in my quarters. When you’re ready, come in. You don’t need to knock or to ask. Just come in and make yourself feel at home.”

Spock passed the PADD to Jim, giving him a shameful look as he did so. As soon as Jim had grasped the device, Spock’s hand shot back behind him. “You left this behind last night. Please take it with you.”

Jim nodded, spilling the device close, while still looking over his tense and avoidant behaviour. “Thanks, Spock. I didn’t know I forgot it.”

There was no answer from Spock; he simply turned his body to look away from Jim, as if he was hiding his face from that direction. When Jim was certain there was nothing Spock was going to say, he sighed, walking through the bathroom, and into his quarters through the door that linked the quarters together.

Spock felt himself release a breath of air he had been hiding in his lungs. He wasn’t sure why he held it for so long, but once he expelled it, he felt a soreness in his throat again. He tried swallowing to ease the pain at the back of it, but it was a painful task. Clearly, he had acquired some bruising there at the hands of the older Vulcan. It was odd how his bruises and sores had seemed to fade into the background when Jim was there, as if his dear friend was consuming all of his attention.

Tears gathered in Spock’s eyes again, but he could not bring himself to let them drop. He didn’t wish to visit with Jim at this time. He didn’t even wish to utilize the bathroom utilities that joined their quarters. The fear of becoming naked in such a close proximity to another living being was causing Spock’s stomach to turn in disgust. He had surprised himself for not retching all over the floor already.

However, Jim was the captain (as well as in an entirely different room), and he was his first officer. He had to remain reliable, loyal, and respectful of Jim’s wishes, regardless of personal matters. Beyond the trust he was desperate to keep with the captain, he also needed to appear completely unharmed. What would Jim think if he saw him in such a raw and vulnerable place as he was at the moment? Though Spock should not have cared what Jim would have thought, he still did.

Now that the t’hy’la bond had been so strong between them, rupturing it was becoming a physical pain for Spock. He could not break it. He simply wanted it to live and thrive and link him closer to his beloved Jim. The Jim that had made him feel loved, and honoured and desired. The Jim that had made him feel accepted and for once in his life, at home.

Yet, it was absolutely necessary. How could Spock hold Jim from another person? Jim was a gift, a person who deserved to be heard and loved. He deserved everything that he was incapable of giving him. He could not deprive Jim of someone who would match him perfectly… could not give him his own used, exhausted, and depleting body.

Spock felt a spike of fear jolt through his body in the form of a shiver. He desperately wanted to run through the bathroom, enter Jim’s room, and tell him everything. Tell him how he had mistaken Sovik’s intrusion for Jim’s, and how Sovik had forced himself in every possible orifice, and battered his body until everything was numb. It hurt to consider such a conversation. Spock could not do it.

He walked into the washroom, peering into the shower where he would eventually have to enter and clear away the evidence of the rape, the rape that had left him feeling so much like a human that he had wearily questioned his very existence.

Spock pulled away his meditation robe, looking down at it miserably. The robe had come from Vulcan, a garment handed to him by his father who wore one of a similar design when he also meditated. Spock was gifted the piece when he finished his kahs-wan, his test of maturity and strength. And though it was now soiled, it was still replaceable. Still, he was terribly regretful that he had ever decided on putting it on that night. Because he had decided on wearing it before bed, and then carelessly falling asleep as he did, he had, in turn, tarnished the beautiful article of clothing, thus shaming him further.

It was unbearably chilly in the bathroom, and Spock felt himself bleed all over again. Perhaps not so much in the physical, but emotionally speaking he felt completely torn apart and raw.

Spock peered down at his body, feeling disgusted by his lax genitals, hanging off him painfully. The memory of Sovik’s hands groping the sensitive tissue caused Spock to want to massage the swelling flesh, to aid to the sores that existed there, but he felt repulsed to touch it. He was simply repulsed in himself all together.

He lifted his aching leg into the shower, his body following painfully as he finally closed himself within it. Eyes closed, he cleared his throat, preparing to activate the shower. However, his throat was sore and tender at the moment, and he felt as though it would be odd to hear his voice in this enclosed space. He did not wish to command the shower, and so Spock decided to activate the sonics manually. He would flick the switch as they did years ago before voice command modules had made it into the comfort of the bathroom.

The button made a clicking noise, then popped back out. Spock closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the warmth of the shower to kick in. But, the warmth never came. It took Spock thirty seconds to realize that nothing had been activated, and when Spock tried to flick the switch on a second time, he began to feel heated from the lack of response from the computer.

It took seven more aggressive flicks of the metallic switch before Spock was absolutely certain it was inoperative. It was likely from the same thing that had affected the cameras, and yet Spock could not find a logical reason for this.

His body began to throb in the areas where Sovik had been. He could feel every location of every spot Sovik had touched. He could remember in perfect detail the way it felt to have Sovik’s body slamming into him, driving his body up the sheets of the bed. The pain, the agony, the shame. It was all returning to Spock. He was so hopeless, helpless, and vulnerable.

Spock slammed both his fists into the marble wall, his tears gently falling down his cheeks. Would it always be this painful? Would it always be this horrifying to shower? Why were all these emotions suddenly surfacing at this time, in such an aggressive manner? He was not this person. He was not like Sovik.

Yet, here he was on his knees, both his hands in fists, trying to mutter words of encouragement to himself. “Pain is something of the mind.” However, these words only came out as sputtering.

Sometime in between falling to the ground and realizing he was on the ground, the sonics began, heat radiating throughout the small enclosed area. The dirt and grime that had been left behind from Sovik’s body were slowly washing away, but Spock still felt as though it were there, lying beneath his skin like maggots.

The only thing that had clearly come out of Spock’s mouth was the word _why._ Why to having become so vulnerable, why to losing Jim, why to becoming nothing but human. The tears felt so strange as they mixed with the gentle cleansing of the shower. Spock had never experienced crying like this in his entire life; in fact, he had rarely ever cried, even when he was a child. It was against his nature.

As Spock lifted his head, feeling the brush of the shower head moving across his face, he could feel the tears move away. His heart began to ease in his side, his trembling hands and legs beginning to relax finally. Once he began to catch his breath, he began to ponder Sovik’s words, and the way he had mentioned Jim’s eventual disgust with him-- how Sovik had said how Jim would enjoy breaking him as often as possible.

Spock had never felt so broken. Never had he felt this appalling sensation until he met Sovik. Up until meeting Sovik, he had never been so sure of himself. He had finally concluded that he was who he was. He was half human, half Vulcan, and content to live the rest of his life by his captain’s side, where he belonged. Now, Spock couldn’t even carry himself out of the shower, for fear of exposing himself to the mirror. He was too afraid to see what he had become.

Sovik lied. Jim hadn’t enjoyed breaking him at all, and if the relationship, and bond that they had shared would have ever developed further, Spock was almost one hundred percent sure that Jim would nurture both halves of his physiology. He would encourage his human half to peek out, but he knew that the man would not demand for it to overtake the Vulcan portion he valued so much. Jim respected Spock. He had told him so.

Sovik lied. And yet, Spock was the one feeling guilty. While he should have celebrated Jim’s good nature, and his ability to honor both sides of him, he still couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of remorse for having betrayed such a honest man. If Jim had, in fact, valued him like the t’hy’la bond had symbolized, Spock felt as though he were the lowest of the low for not bonding with him with a clear conscience. Jim deserved better than he was.

And even though he was so damaged, Spock knew Jim would love him regardless. The loyalty and dedication Jim always exhibited were the reasons why Jim deserved someone entirely flawless like him. For him to settle for anything was unacceptable, and yet he knew Jim would certainly settle if it was for Spock. 

Here Spock was, kneeling in a shower, crying over the loss of his captain and t’hy’la, while considering how despicable Sovik’s lies were. Yet, Sovik wasn’t the only one to conceal the truth. Spock was as tight-lipped as he had been. The truth could never be revealed regarding Sovik, though every fibre of Spock’s being ached to tell. There were many things that Jim was understanding of, but this was something that nobody could possibly fathom.

It took effort that Spock barely possessed to lift himself from the shower floor. His arms visibly shook as he reached for the deactivation switch. When the sonics finished, he carefully hoisted himself up to his feet, and hissed from the pain he felt in his backside. It was a short stabbing pain that reminded Spock of the initial plunge Sovik had taken into his body.

Spock peered down at his body, noticing the pooling grime that had come off was now gathering at his feet. When his eyes trailed up his skin, he noticed the claw marks of his perpetrator. They were burning green streaks that covered his thighs, and darkened in colour when they reached his hips. Spock even noticed the dark green bruising marks around his pelvis where Sovik had physically torn the  undergarment from his body. Spock winced at the memory.

Bruises. Everywhere that Spock’s eyes travelled, he saw them. He could perhaps handle most of them, as there were dark blotches on his legs, arms, chest, and torso; those were easy enough to conceal from prying eyes. However, it was the dark bruising on his neck that would be difficult to explain. He cringed from the thought of how Sovik derived his pleasure from such an act of constricting the air from entering or leaving his body.

The most difficult bruise of all to look at was the perfectly shaped hand marks that were highlighted over his waist. Sovik had held onto him with such a force that Spock was certain these marks would not go away over the course of a couple nights. These were markings of Sovik’s possession. This had been a purposeful act that Sovik inflicted upon him, most likely hoping that the captain would see.

He didn’t want a reminder of those hands. He didn’t want to recall what had happened, and yet those hand prints made the process that much more difficult.

‘ _You are a Vulcan, Spock. You are strong, superior over these tedious human emotions. Do not allow Sovik to break you._ ’ Spock tried to convince himself as he diverted his eyes away from anything that reminded him of the rape.

After he had painfully dressed himself, he opened the drawer next to the sink. His eyes studied the contents within it, shuffling through to find what he was seeking. He finally found the dermal regenerator and brought it up to his face. He couldn’t risk Jim seeing the dark green marks over his face and neck, and he supposed it would be best to spend the extra ten minutes to tend to them.

The light scanned over the tender discolouration over his face, repairing it slowly as Spock’s hand shivered. When it was finally in acceptable condition, Spock dropped the device back into the drawer, avoiding the mirror to inspect his results. It would have been logical to take that extra time to perfect his image.

Finally, Spock peered into the room where Sovik had taken him… where Sovik had destroyed what Spock had held dear to him.

Just as Spock readied himself to go towards his captain’s quarters, he experienced a disturbance. There was an impression on his consciousness. It was very faint, but as Spock brought his fingers to his temple, he managed to read it with vague accuracy.

“… S _atisfaction, ease, Spock, all Spock_.”

Quickly, Spock opened his eyes, moving away from the door to sit on his bed. He had hoped it hadn’t happened, he hoped that he would be spared at least this, but it had been clear that he wasn’t. Sovik had clearly enforced a weak mental bond with Spock while copulation. It was absurd that Spock had thought this would not occur. When Vulcans entered their heat cycle, they often dealt with it more effectively by bonding their minds with another. That was the basic history of the ritual, and Spock felt shame for harboring the link between him and his attacker, an attacker who had so little remorse for his actions and had been so outwardly cruel to his captain.

Spock fell onto the bed, trying hard to seclude his thoughts from Sovik’s. He did not want Sovik to experience the horror that was running through him. If Sovik became aware he would surely approach him again, and Spock wasn’t sure he was capable of another encounter.

When he was finally successful in quieting the bond by limiting his thoughts, Spock concluded he was unable to visit with the captain just yet. Spock was shocked by this development. How would he be able to spend time with Jim when Sovik was spewing off words of attraction in the back of his head?

Spock remained in place, lying over his bed shivering as he replayed the sounds of intercourse that had filled the room earlier. The sounds of skin against skin, Sovik’s moaning, his own grunting, and the creaking of mattress springs.

He could not see Jim now… not when he couldn’t stop shaking, and holding back tears. And though avoiding Jim made him feel pathetic, he knew that he would eventually be able to visit with his friend again. Though he knew it would be different from what they were accustomed to, they would just have to be patient.

-

 

It was quiet, the room much less familiar than it had been before. Jim felt the pinching of cool air against his chest, and quickly dug through the dresser for one of his yellow command tunics. When he finally found the one he had been seeking, he pulled it out, lifted it above his head, and slipped it on.

The coolness was finally gone, and Jim peered over towards the chronometer on the night table, noting it had been over an hour since he heard the sonics in the shared bathroom go off, meaning Spock had returned to his quarters and likely locked himself away.

There was something off about Spock that evening. The off feeling came from the moment Jim walked through his unlocked door, then strengthened when Spock had nearly fallen off of his bed in a panic. Spock never behaved like that, and it had been slightly disturbing, to say the least.

Jim approached the thermostat on the wall, hiking the temperature up to what he and Spock had decided would be agreeable between the two of them. It was just warm enough that Jim didn’t have to strip his tunic off, and Spock didn’t feel compelled to add another layer. Jim felt content knowing Spock was comfortable in his presence.

However, today, Jim felt obligated to increase the temperature more. He had witnessed the way Spock’s hands slightly trembled against the dresser, and he knew that the Enterprise had been experiencing some technical difficulties. Perhaps it was the chilly environment that had caused the erratic behavior, and Jim’s guilty response.

He assumed Spock would keep his word, knowing that no matter the circumstance, he always would. And though Jim didn’t require Spock’s dedication at a time when he seemed ill, he still expected it from past experience.

Spock would be here soon. Jim would just have to be patient.

When Spock would arrive, he would likely need food. Spock had never arrived and wanted anything, but Jim assumed that Spock would require it. He imagined that with this down state his friend was in, he probably had neglected his prime necessities, such as eating. Even if Spock denied sustenance upon arriving (as he often did), he knew that he would be tempted if Jim began. It was one of the many human qualities Spock had that he was apparently unaware of.

Jim activated the synthesizer, hearing it stutter before activating completely. He waited for roughly one minute before ordering a drink of water, and a glass of Vulcan spiced tea for his loved one.

... Loved one.

It felt strange referring to Spock in such a way, but it also didn’t feel wrong. In fact it felt nice expressing the attachment he had for Spock.

But above all, it felt _right,_ and for a moment Jim could see himself actually having something more with Spock. He could see Jim synthesizing dinner for Spock, engaging in a game of chess while pressing their toes together under the table affectionately. And though it all seemed a bit similar to what they had already, Jim was certain that everything would feel enhanced compared to what they had. It would be _passionate,_ _intimate_ , and of course _comfortable_ \-- comfortable for being able to love Spock the way he wanted to.

The synthesizer dinged as the two glasses materializer, allowing for Jim to retrieve them and bring them to the small table he often utilized for games of chess with Spock. After placing them in the correct spots—with Spock’s glass on the side against the wall—Jim returned to the device and ordered two bowls of quinoa; he knew that it was a newly discovered meal that Spock had enjoyed, as well as being able to sit for quite a while without losing its quality.

The quinoa came out in pristine condition, and Jim was thankful that his synthesizer hadn’t gone out like he had heard so many of the crew members claim had happened to them. He peered towards the door leading to the shared bathroom, and felt his heart lurching for Spock’s arrival, hoping he would walk through it, as happy as the Vulcan could possibly be.

Jim sat for a moment on his bed, trying to consider whether or not he should leave Spock be, or fetch him. If Spock was sleeping, then he did not wish to disturb him, knowing how badly he needed it. However, if Spock was merely secluding himself for the sake of not having to expose his human side, then he would have none of it.

Before Jim could come to a definite conclusion, there was a person at the door, requesting access.

“Enter,” Jim replied, allowing the computer to activate the opening sequence of the lock.

In through the door came Spock’s figure, dressed now in the traditional blue he usually wore, and his hair combed and in order as he preferred. Slowly he entered, his eyes grazing over the floor of Jim’s quarters, avoiding eye contact.

“Captain,” Spock greeted quietly, under his breath. He turned his head in Jim’s general direction, his gaze looking along the back wall.

“Spock,” Jim greeted, his hands clasping over his knees. He looked up toward Spock’s stiff posture. “I thought I told you to just walk in. You know you’re welcome any time.” He wished he could stress that option to the degree in which he felt it.

Spock bowed his head respectfully, “I recall, Sir.” Jim’s head raised at the sound of Spock’s use of formalities. He lift his brow curiously. “I simply decided it would be much more professional to achieve entrance through this method.” His tone was so soft and gentle that Jim felt his heart aching with pity he wasn’t sure why existed.

“Spock,” Jim began, moving off the bed and towards his friend. “ _Professional? Sir_?” He laughed gently. “We aren’t on duty.”

“I must disagree, Sir. We are always on duty whether it is our off time or our scheduled shift hours, professionalism must always be our priority,” Spock explained, his tone urgent and rough. Jim’s curiosity over the use of formal titles was much less concerning now with the sound of Spock’s rugged and strained voice.

“Are you alright?” Jim asked softly, moving slowly towards Spock again. He noticed the heavy bags dropping below his eyes, and the bright green cheek contrasting his pale skin. He had thought Spock was blushing earlier, however Jim was starting to think otherwise. “You look and sound tired or sick, or…”

“I am adequate, Captain,” Spock replied instantly, clearing his throat quietly. “Might I ask why you requested my presence this afternoon?”

 _‘Just because? Because I love you? Because I care?’_ All perfectly acceptable responses in Jim’s opinion, but none of which would satisfy the Vulcan’s need for logic.

Jim’s stare became intense, forcing Spock to turn himself entirely away from him. He then proceeded toward the opposite end of the room, beginning to enter the living space where Jim kept his book, his holovision, and other personal belongings.

“Spock, have a seat and eat,” Jim finally settled for saying. It seemed the perfect response for Spock’s stubbornness as this was the reason he called him into his quarters. He followed his friend to the doorway where he was standing. He desperately wished to place his hand over Spock’s back and comfort him, but he thought against it as he watched Spock stiffen with his presence.

“I am quite alright, Sir,” Spock responded quickly.

“Then at least have a seat.” Jim insisted, walking to the table. When he noticed Spock had not followed him, he motioned for Spock to sit. “That’s an order.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, following Jim hesitantly before standing next to the chair he typically occupied.

“Sit,” Jim sighed, realizing Spock would not do so unless instructed.

“I prefer to stand,” Spock countered, his hands tightening behind his back.

“Spock, _please_ sit,” Jim almost begged, his eyes looking up at Spock desperately as well as interrogatively.

A sigh left Spock, causing Jim to feel another sensation of shock. It wasn’t often that Spock expressed such exasperation, even if he was lacking in sleep and meditation. However, he never truly experienced a sleep-deprived Vulcan before in his time.

Spock pulled the chair out slowly, his eyes wavering over the spot he was instructed to sit at. However, the endeavor would be quite difficult given his previous encounter with Sovik. He very gently brought himself down into the chair, wincing ever so slightly from the intense pain that shot through his rectum. It was like feeling the pain of Sovik’s length entering him again, and Spock opened his eyes wide with shock of having momentarily relived the incident that had permanently scarred his mind.

As quickly as possible, Spock cleared his expression, darting his eyes away from Jim shamefully. It took all of Spock’s attention to conceal the pain he was experiencing in and out of his body, so much that he missed Jim’s following remark.

“Thank you,” Jim sighed, looking at the way Spock shoved the bowl away from him politely. In place of the bowl, Spock placed his hands together.

The two of them were quiet, Jim’s appetite diminishing the longer he watched his friend’s painfully blank expression. Neither of them chose to speak for a moment, until Spock glanced into the cup on his left.

“Vulcan spiced tea,” Spock observed, inhaling the scent of his native beverage deeply.

“Yes,” Jim nodded enthusiastically. “Please.” He encouraged Spock to drink with a small gesture .

Spock brought the cup up, absorbing the heat from the drink comfortably through the sensitive nerves in his hands. He closed his eyes pleasantly for a moment, and Jim’s heart leaped with the aspect of his friend feeling better. As Spock basked in the loveliness of his homestyle beverage, he did not drink it; Jim seemed to find that acceptable though.

“So,” Jim began, taking a fork full of the salad he had prepared earlier. “I woke up this morning in a peculiar place.” Jim smiled, hoping that the awkwardness had been somehow left behind and that everything had possibly returned to normal. He looked up at his friend to gauge his reaction of his story so far.

There was no response from Spock. His eyes were open though, and he was looking down at his bowl of salad questionably.

The lack of response raised genuine concern in the captain, but he decided that it would be best to continue as if there had been a response.

“Sickbay,” Jim explained. “I woke up this morning in sickbay.”

For the first time since Spock had arrived, their eyes met. Fear, concern, guilt, and sympathy were all clearly visible in Spock’s eyes. Normally, Spock would react in a much more relaxed manner, typically with concern, but never to the degree he was displaying now.

“Captain,” Spock began looking over Jim-- looking furiously to find any sort of ill effects, or wounds from his alleged trip to sickbay. “I was not aware. Nobody had informed me of this event.”

“They attempted, but you weren’t responding,” Jim explained, his eyes noticing some markings over Spock’s neck.  

Spock’s eyes darted away from Jim, his shoulders slouching in despair, somewhat shadowing the bruises Jim might have begun noticing. Blatantly, Spock decided to ignore the look. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Spock,” Jim assured, rubbing his head gently. “I just got a bump on the head I guess.”

“You _guess_?” Spock questioned, his tone just as concerned as it had been when Jim had first informed him of his visit to sickbay.

Jim smirked at his friend, nodding humorously. “Don’t ask me how, or why.” He pushed the quinoa away from him just as Spock had done, finding his appetite growing stale as Spock refused to quench his own. “My blood sugar was apparently high, and so McCoy thinks I passed out from that and bumped my head.”

Spock’s hands tightened on the cup, his eyes staring into Jim’s with fear. Had this been another one of Sovik’s sick deeds? Had he acted upon the captain violently as to show him that he was serious about his silence? Was this the consequence of what would happen if Spock did not follow Sovik’s orders? He felt his aching body begin to throb again at the memory of what Sovik had done to him and the words he had etched into his mind.

_“You will not speak of this to the captain, as well you will not speak of this to the RU-598 group. You have a responsibility to remain silent, and to go about your work as usual…. And you know what will happen if you do.”_

Jim’s heart sank at the sight of Spock’s eyes-- distant and unmoving. He could not imagine what had compelled his stoic friend to suddenly appear this way, unsure whether or not it had been the fact that Jim had been found unconscious in the halls that had brought on this emotional outburst, or if it was something deeper. Again, he wondered if it was a severe lack of meditation and rest, or something else.

“Spock?” Jim reached out, placing his hand over Spock’s on the cup. He could somehow feel the warmth of the Vulcan tea seeping through the cracks between Spock’s fingers. It drew no reply from his tight-lipped friend, and continued to press the issue until he received appropriate attention. “Spock, what’s wrong? What’s that on your neck?”

Thoughts of all the threats Sovik had made towards Jim and his ship were coming at the Vulcan in full force. He could hear Sovik so clearly gritting his teeth and assuring him that he would kill the ones he loved. It was despicable, it was disgusting, but it had been the truth. He wished to kill Sovik for what he had done to Jim, what he had done to himself. He had never desired the death of another before this moment. When he heard of what he had potentially done to Jim, Spock could feel himself fuming.

And yet, under what circumstances was he going off of? To what proof was he basing these claims? It was not logical to harbour such emotions, needless to say in such a manner as revenge. The longer Spock existed after his attack, the more he felt foreign to his body, the more separate he felt from the decisions and the thought processes he was making. It was strange even sitting across from the captain, knowing there had been a time when all he wanted to do was look at Jim, talk to him, touch him. Now, all he wanted to do was hide.

It was a glorious concept however. Through his years of promoting and encouraging peace and logic, it still felt extremely satisfying to envision the death of such a brutal Vulcan. As much as he had desired such an unfortunate event, he felt himself apprehensive to the thought. He tried desperately to shield it away somewhere undetectable. He tried to hide these sensations from the man who could possibly pick up on these offending impulses, and possibly threaten the captain further. He had a duty as first officer of this vessel to keep these thoughts at bay, which was a relief in some way since Spock was much too afraid to confront Sovik again.

Jim placed both hands on top of Spock’s finally gaining his attention before he abruptly stood up. Their gazes met and Jim could see the severity now present in Spock’s.

“Spock!” Jim’s eyes were wide with anxiety. It was clear that penting up this anger had not been fully beneficial.

“Captain,” Spock continued as if his moment of passion had gone unnoticed or had not even existed to begin with. “Might I ask what caused your blood pressure to raise to such a dangerous degree?” His question was so innocent, so concerned, however his tone was approaching assertiveness that Spock rarely possessed.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care about that, Spock. Are you doing okay?” He gripped Spock’s arm somewhat affectionately, but it was more of a symbol of comfort than arousal.

“I assured you before that I am quite alright, Captain.” Spock peered away uncomfortably, removing his arm from Jim’s grasp bitterly. “Now I have asked what has caused your blood pressure to rise. It was surely had not occurred at random.”

Jim leaned back into his chair, his eyebrows raised with concern. He had never heard such a firm tone from Spock, but with such weak force. It sounded like a sore throat, or possibly as if Spock hadn’t spoken in days and was just testing out his vocal chords. His speech was hoarse and lacking, which Jim found rather odd.

“McCoy thinks I didn’t eat or sleep enough,” Jim answered shortly. “It’s probably fine, Spock. Now I want to know what’s the matter with you?” Jim asked with his brows lowered interrogatively.

‘ _Disappointment. Anger. Jealousy. Rage. Lust. Come to me, Spock. Come.’_ Spock could faintly hear the calling through his link with Sovik. No matter how much of Spock’s efforts he placed towards shielding his mind from that particular area, he was not successful. Sovik always managed a way to whisper, to prey upon him wherever he went. It had been bad enough that he had endured such a horrific event within his own quarters, but to have a constant violation following him in the safety of his mind was becoming torturous.

Fury as well as frustration bubbled, rising through him like a jolted bottle of pop. His eyes narrowed onto Jim, standing abruptly with both hands slamming down flat onto the table. He could not even wince from the pain he felt assault his posterior as well as the litany of bruises that existed across his body. He could pay no attention to them as he looked Jim straight in the eyes.

“I do not see the logic in confronting me on issues that I have no desire to discuss. I have answered you on multiple occasions that I am adequate. I am in need of meditation and sleep, and if that explanation is unsatisfactory for you, Captain, then I must apologize. I am now requesting permission to retire to my quarters before heading off to the science labs, where I am required to be at precisely 17:00.”

_“You will not speak of this to the captain, as well you will not speak of this to the RU-5998 group. You have a responsibility to remain silent, and to go about your work as usual. You will also assist me in the labs at 17:00.”_

A jolt of pain struck at Spock’s side, feeling Sovik’s anger rushing into his mind once again. _‘Disappointment. Need. Anger. Spock. I need. I burn.’_

“Spock!” Jim called out, watching as Spock made his way to the door. “Permission denied!” He growled, unsure why Spock had snapped at such an innocent remark.

“Captain, you cannot deny me. I am needed elsewhere,” Spock replied, freezing at the door when Jim had yelled at him. Even during this rebellious fit of anger, Spock still managed to follow his orders extremely efficiently.

“Spock, in all of my days of knowing you, you have never behaved so… so… irrationally.” It was the only word Jim could think to use to describe Spock’s behaviour. It had been so heated, so based on emotion that he had a hard time believing it had come from Spock. Aside from the incident of Pon Farr, Jim had thought Spock completely incapable of such a display.

All Jim could see was the back of Spock’s head. From the way Spock had dropped it, it was clear that Spock had been thinking about his captain’s words. He must have reached something deep within Spock to make him come out of such an instinctive moment, and to make him think rationally again. He felt relieved knowing he had been the cause of that.

“I apologize, Jim.” Spock’s voice was ragged and desolate. It was hard for Jim to hear it. “I have behaved insensitively, and I do request that you pardon my … _emotional_ … outburst.”

Jim approached closer to Spock, his hand resting on Spock’s shoulder. When he finally stopped his forward advance, he quickly turned his friend to face him, their eyes now peering into one another questionably. Then a moment of instinct kicked in and Jim wrapped his arms around Spock, cradling him close, gently rocking their bodies from side to side in a comforting and soothing rhythm. Jim’s hand snaked its way around Spock’s head, and began carding his fingers through the glossy black strands.

Jim had snatched Spock’s body so fast that he heard a slight whimper escape him. He felt the once rigid muscles melting into his arms, softening into a lax and helpless posture. From the way Jim hooked his arms under Spock’s, and wrapped them around him, Jim could feel Spock’s heart beating heavily in his side, pounding against his embrace.

Jim’s heartbeat began increasing, almost going in sync with Spock’s rapid pace. The two of them were silent, both of them focussing on the firm, muscular arms that were hugging onto Spock’s thin figure. Spock’s hands traced up the front of Jim’s shirt, holding tightly to the golden tunic without giving his actions much thought. It was as if that clasp onto the fabric of his shirt was a lifeline, the only thing keeping him upright at that moment.

It was a comforting gesture for Spock as well as Jim. For Spock could feel the subtle, human heat escaping through the fabric of the tunic, and Jim felt reassurance that Spock was still there, and wouldn’t run off as he had intended moments ago.

Jim turned his face into the dark hair, his eyes closing gently. All of his attention returned to the beating of Spock’s heart, and the calming melody of their sways. Jim felt so much misery from their contact, that he felt himself fighting back emotions he couldn’t understand.

Hints of woe, sorrow, anger, guilt--they were all the emotions Jim felt enveloping his very self and yet could not discern their origins. Why was he feeling remorse when he was so close to Spock? Normally, being at his first officer’s side provided him with serenity and pleasure; that was, at times, the reason he suspected they often gravitated to one another when on the bridge.

A heavy sigh lifted Spock’s shoulders, and then they slowly dropped. Jim kept his cheek firmly pressed into Spock’s hair. He had never held his first officer like this. Certainly, there had been moments when he caught Spock’s injured body, or had been in such tight confines that he had no choice but to hug the man in some manner to survive.

But this was different. This was love.

It was impossible for Jim to hold back the adoration and love he had for his friend. Even with the spike of misery that he was experiencing, Jim couldn’t help but focus on the presence of honour and dedication beaming between him and his lovely Spock. He had wondered if Spock had felt similarly for him before, but he could not be more certain now. Not when he could feel Spock’s mind almost reaching out to his.

As it was.

Spock could sense the t’hy’la bond pressing their minds together, exchanging thoughts of desperation, longing, sadness, grief. When bound like this, it became so incredibly strong, that Spock could not bear to hide it away again. He could feel every aspect of his mind leaking out of him and onto Jim. His mind was so incredibly vulnerable that he felt like he had no control over his body or his thoughts. He simply leaned his head into Jim’s and closed his eyes as well.

After some time of feeling themselves somehow develop into one singular being, Jim turned his head, feeling Spock bury his face into the crook of his neck. It was a motion of shame and guilt, but Jim couldn’t find the words to console Spock.

At least not without asking him once again what was wrong or what happened, and for some reason, Jim had a deep understanding of the pain that was riddled in Spock’s soul. He could see the desperation for silence. He couldn’t say he understood it to the degree of finding it acceptable, but he knew that it existed with reason-- whatever that reason might have been.

There was no way words could confront such a pain, and so Jim decided not to speak. Instead, he pulled his head back as much as he could, bringing his lips down over top of Spock’s cheek, giving him a reassuring gesture of affection as well as devotion. It was his way of saying how much he worshipped their relationship, and how loyal he was to never letting go. He would eventually know what happened, and he would fix it. That was a promise he could somehow never put into words better than that kiss.

Spock kept his head like that for a moment, his eyes closed and pressed into the fabric of Jim’s shirt. It took a long moment before he raised his face and turned away from Jim completely, leaving both of them completely silent and cold without the other’s arms around them.

The silence rang in Spock’s pointed ears. The sound of his own heart beating as it slowly became his own, and no longer shared with Jim’s. He remained standing for a moment, feeling Jim’s lips on his sore and tender cheek. That feeling of Jim against him seemed to carry away the memory of Sovik’s brutal hands. He felt what Jim had been trying to tell him for so long, and he wanted more.

_“I love you, Spock.”_

Those had been the words Spock could pick out over their bond. And though they were weak and shaky, Spock had not anticipated anything more. Jim was, after all, human.

It was not the quality of the words that had mattered to Spock, it was what they meant that did. The delight, the satisfaction, the adoration Jim had for him. It made Spock feel something he had never experienced in all his years. For once, Spock felt accepted, and he was not prepared to let go of that feeling.

No, this _feeling_ was much too dear to him to let it go.

The gates of his mind had dropped, allowing for all of Jim affection to flood into him. _“What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Spock! I love you! Don’t hide from me! Spock!”_ Jim’s voice sounded throughout the link with genuine concern. He did not appear angry or frustrated, only rife with sorrow and grief.

It was curious to feel so honoured and so cared for in his mind. Spock wasn’t at all sure why Jim had thought so highly of him, but there had been a part of him that was pleased for it.... pleased that the feelings he had been harbouring for him had been reciprocated to such a degree.

Sovik’s connection drowned out beneath the resounding thumps of Jim’s heart that he could still hear. The faint whispers of Sovik’s mind were inaudible the more he remained in Jim’s quarters. For that, Spock was thankful, and yet at the same time, he felt immensely guilty as well.

Jim had always been so thoughtful, so caring, so considerate toward him. It had been that way not only for him, but for the entire crew of the Enterprise. It was one of the main reasons Jim was such an honoured member of Starfleet, and every time Spock saw Jim’s face, a rush of pride would fill him for being so close to that man. For having Jim think of him as a best friend… he was honoured, absolutely honoured.

It was the same honesty, loyalty, and care that Jim deserved in a relationship. The thought of having Jim as a life partner was so tempting, so attractive to Spock, and yet who was Spock to claim such perfection? Jim deserved his entire heart, soul and mind, and as it stood at the moment, Sovik had forced a share of all those aspects.

At the moment, none of that mattered. It was almost as though Sovik had never come into his life and tormented him as he had, at least not when Jim was around. It was as if nothing could possibly harm him as long as Jim was near.

A minute and thirty seconds passed before Spock spoke. “I must ask a personal favour of you, Jim,” Spock whispered, facing the door.

“Anything at all Spock,” Jim replied honestly,

“I am needed elsewhere in approximately one hour and fifty-two minutes.” He turned back toward Jim, his cheeks a faint green. “May I rest on your sofa?” His eyes faltered to the ground instead of peering into his captain’s.

It was degrading to ask such a thing. The captain was not obligated to provide a place to sleep when his his own space was so near, accessible by simply walking through that door to the left . However, he felt great need to remain here.

His own quarters had become a dreadful atmosphere, a location in which he felt afraid to enter. It was unpleasant to fear a place that was the only one which had felt as a home aboard this ship. Within those walls, the gravity was just right, the temperature comfortable, and the décor pleasing as well as homely.

Jim’s quarters were second best to his own. While Jim was here, he felt the t’hy’la bond flourish and sing, making Spock feel psi null to the sensations of pain and agony he experienced while alone with Sovik in his thoughts. As long as Jim was near, he would be safe, both physically and mentally. It seemed when Jim was around in his mind, Sovik was incapable of being heard.

Jim smiled at him. “No, Spock.” He shook his head humorously. “You can stay in my quarters, but you won’t be sleeping on the couch. You’ll be sleeping on the bed.” He pointed toward the sleeping alcove, his eyes looking over Spock’s warmly.

“I will not be sleeping, merely resting. I find that I am unable to fully rest in my own quarters.” Spock looked shamefully towards the bed.

“Rest then for as long as you want, Spock. I’ll be over here by my desk completing some work on my computer.” He smiled affectionately.

“Jim,” Spock spoke in his rough voice once again. “I do thank you. If there is anything I can do for your injury...” He looked up towards Jim’s head.

“No Spock, I should be fine.” Jim smiled motioning to the bed. “Now go lie down. You really do look like you need to sleep.”

Spock bowed his head, turning in the direction Jim was coaxing him to go in and knowing that attempting to sleep would be pointless in this condition. He knew he would be unable to reach the meditative state he required-- at least not when he had two people in his head, as well as agonizing wounds covering his body to remind his of the brutal rape he had endured. No, he would not be sleeping again for some time.

As Spock was settling, Jim seated himself at his desk. This hadn’t been the first time Spock had slept in his quarters, as he remembered. Only this was the first it happened in such a way.

About a year ago, Spock had been somehow locked out of his own space from a malfunction in the doorways linking to his quarter’s control. It had somehow locked itself, and would take a few hours for Scotty to fix the issue. Not wanting to wake Scotty in the middle of the night, Jim invited Spock to rest in his quarters following their game of chess. Spock did sleep in Jim’s quarters that day; however, he had insisted tirelessly in remaining on the couch, and not the bed where Jim had suggested.

That memory was not the only thing that had started the grin that began pulling across Jim’s face. Spock finally resting had something to do with it, but more importantly, he felt a gentle pang of friendly annoyance for having been proved wrong _yet again_ by the good doctor. It seemed whether or not Jim tried, he could not concern himself with only his own personal issues. It seemed he would forever care for the wellbeing and safety of Spock. Nothing could convince him otherwise.

Nothing.

-

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! It was a difficult one for sure, but I hope it was worth the wait! I would love to hear your thoughts, and feel free to email me (iamcemxox@gmail.com) or send me a message on tumblr (@i-am-cem)! I promise that my future uploads will be faster and regular again <3 
> 
> If any of you want a happier Jim and Spock fic, I recomend "Written in the Stars," by plaidshirtjimkirk... or you can read my bottom spock PWP that I published for plaidshirtimkirk on her birthday. It's on my works page on AO3... so yeah, if you want to check that out... it's a HUGE difference from this fic. 
> 
> Things will get better, EVENTUALLY... but I have to warn my readers that the tough parts aren't done yet.. the next chapter might contain some graphic stuff as well... just giving everyone a heads up. But I promise it does get better!!! 
> 
> I hope all of you are doing well and as always LLAP!! :D


	11. Where Is My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to plaidshirtjimkirk for being a phenomenal beta. She has been so supportive and always inspires me to write! I recommend her story written in the stars! absolutely amazing work there! I truly can say this story would suck without her... she's literally the best!! <3
> 
> Also,... A BIG Thank you to Baliano711 .... This person's words have inspired me, and has been a constant support to me through reviewing!!!! I have become so much more confident in my writing because of this person and I just want to say "Thank you Baliano711, thank you for being a wonderful person and support!!!" <3333 
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter come as follows.... RAPE AND NON-CON... VIOLENCE, ... GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE.... a WELL THERE ARE SOME DISTURBING KINKS SOVIK!!!! SO BE AWARE!!!! I have placed XXXX's before and after this scene. 
> 
> The chapter title is obviously inspired by "Where is my mind" by the pixies. 
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter and Live Long and Prosper.... and remember, I believe in happy endings 100%
> 
> ALSO PLEASE NOTE THAT VULCAN TRANSLATIONS WILL BE IN THE END AUTHORS NOTES!!

**Where Is My Mind**

 

Sovik’s eyes had softened significantly as he passed through the halls of the Enterprise, making his way back to the labs for a formal briefing on some of the production aspects of the Renneral project.

The heat of his madness had been tamed that morning, and it felt as though Sovik could suddenly breathe, see, and hear again--as though he were existing in new light. As he sauntered through the halls, he saw eyes follow him as if they had known what he had done-- as if each crew member had heard his interaction with Spock over a ship wide comm. Impossible as it was, it still resonated that way with him.

The memory of Spock’s eyes staring into his own lifted Sovik’s spirits. The way he had asserted full dominance over such a powerful individual aboard the ship brought out something erotically dark within him. The thought of thrusting deeper and deeper into the tight heat of Spock’s body was so seductive that it almost made him feel lightheaded just thinking about it.

Guilt slowly settled in, reminding Sovik of what he had lost. He absolutely felt no remorse for what he had accomplished with Spock; seeing as the heat had seemingly decimated, he felt relieved, and even somewhat attracted to Spock. No, the guilt came from the memory of T’Leia’s eyes peering up over to him every morning. The dark colour and shape of those eyes had been similar to Spock’s, and as Sovik recalled, they had been the most beautiful ones in the entire universe. It made him feel bad reminding himself of her passing every time he looked at Spock.

Her skin was always so warm, and her smile was as striking as the sunrise on Vulcan. The day he laid his eyes upon hers was like none other that he had experienced before. There was no doubt in his mind that from everything he had accomplished in his life, she was the most spectacular thing that had ever happened to him. Her mere existence had brought on such happiness and security that he had no need to seek another.

Like Spock.

What had once been a feeling of guilt, had suddenly turned to resentment, and for a moment Sovik was appalled at how quickly he could shift from one illogical emotion to the next.

Spock was _not_ T’Leia, and he resented him for almost stepping into that place. Sovik had thought Spock attractive, brilliantly intelligent, and yet he was simply _not_ T’Leia. He had his faults, as all beings did, and Sovik had a hard time seeing past the dual heritage he had known him to have since he was quite young. Spock was a legend from birth, and Sovik was disgusted to have been apart of that legend, and to have bonded to the hideously fragile mind.

 _However,_ as Spock’s mind was shivering within their bond, he felt a deeper attraction to him. Suddenly, feelings of apprehension and lust, had turned into desire and security. He _needed_ Spock… he _wanted_ him like he wanted T’Leia. And it was for that that Sovik resented him. Nobody could just walk into his life and replace such perfection as T’Leia, especially not a half-breed mutt like Spock! But he was absolutely beautiful, and Sovik could not deny that.

Sovik’s hand trembled behind his back, but he willed it to stop as he reached the lab. He mentally calmed himself, hoping that Spock did not feel the impulses of hate he had just emitted.

As he entered the room, he told himself that he had just transitioned through his Pon Farr, and there was no need to surface those intense emotions now.

 _“Sovik. I will assist you, but not in this fashion. Release me and I will reveal my meaning.”_ Spock had said prior to the incident, just as Sovik had tried to rip his clothes off. The comment had been an open invitation in Sovik’s mind, and he remembered it had been at that moment he first delved into the Vulcan’s mind.

Upon entering Spock’s consciousness, it was compelling. There was very little effort required in the act, and he had noticed the way Spock’s shields had been incredibly weak. All Sovik had to do was the gently push them aside, and snake into the delicate memories and thoughts Spock was experiencing.

The Vulcan’s mind was fascinating. There was much hurt there, as well as contentment. As he had almost walked through Spock’s past with him during their brief meld, he recalled images of being excluded, being taunted, being pushed, and being unaccepted. Merely watching these thoughts in Spock’s head caused Sovik to cringe; however, when he had stumbled upon the thoughts regarding _Kirk,_ Spock’s overall perspective had been intensely different.

 _“James T. Kirk! Jim! Jim! My Captain!”_ He remembered Spock’s mind almost singing when he unraveled that memory. Sovik had tried to make Spock focus on it in order to remind him that he was undeserving of even Jim’s love, and he had hoped that it would influence him to become more willing to what Sovik wanted. However, this was not the case.

The memory of the captain sitting there in his almighty chair, roused a strength that wasn’t present before in Spock, giving him comfort, stability, and warmth. It was as if he hadn’t experienced all the torment of his past whenever he witnessed that human.

The T’hy’la bond was powerful, especially between these two. It was odd for Sovik to see such a strengthening link between a human and a half-Vulcan. Typically these bonds were formed quite young and spontaneously. As well, this had been the first time he had ever witnessed a t’hy’la bond due to its rarity on Vulcan. But there was no denying the connection between these two men. They were bound with honour and trust that surpassed regularity. They were friends, brothers, and above all, lovers--even if that love wasn’t physical.

Sovik tore his lab coat off the hanger, crumpling the material in his fingers. It wasn’t fair. Spock was so affected by Jim that even just the image of his captain raised his heartbeat. Sovik desperately wanted that same affection. He wanted Spock to desire him like he desired Jim, or like T’Leia used to.

 _“Sovik, Pon Farr is over. Do not become like that again.”_ He begged himself internally. Pon Farr was unsettling. To give into such primal instincts and surrender all logic for the mating ritual was appalling. And though Sovik had tried to convince himself that it was all over and done with after encountering Spock… he felt doubt unquestionably in his mind.

This hadn’t been the first occurrence of Pon Farr this year; as well, what was most concerning was the fact that this year wasn’t in sync with his seven year schedule. He had experienced his time two years ago with his beloved T’Leia, and he wasn’t due for another occurrence for later, in the hottest portion of the summer. It had always had fallen into that time for him.

It was concerning, Sovik could not lie. To experience episodes of Pon Farr so early was something he knew was vital enough to contact a Vulcan healer about. It would require taking months of meditation, rehabilitation and solitude to overcome.

Time? Solitude? These were things Sovik could not have at the moment. With his RU-598 project taking flight and Starfleet's insistence upon their arrival, it was not the right time. As soon as the details of the project were ironed out and it was ready to be taken from his hands and into the Federation’s, _then_ he could take care of his condition and possibly find the cause of his madness.

This had been why Sovik was so pleased to have met Spock. It was perhaps fate. Sovik needed some way to ground himself back into sanity, and the only way he could successfully do this was with a Vulcan. He had tried to meld with Rebecca on Stronos, to possibly quench the flame, but it was of no use. His mind reached out to another one who could bond with him successfully, and so when he stepped aboard the Enterprise, being greeted by such an arousing member of his own kind was remarkable.

Spock’s pleasant attitude as well as his toned and slender figure drove Sovik deeper into his Pon Farr. It was difficult for him not to hold Spock down in the transporter room when he had first saw him. There was no questioning the erection he had given him on multiple occasions during their time together, and now that he had finally experienced what it was like to mate with him, he felt the need to do it again…. and again… and again.

The container lid holding the Renneral material clicked open, allowing the particles to dance up into the air around him. He could smell its earthy scent, and he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his thoughts regarding his sexual encounter intensify.

Spock’s toes curling, his hands tightening into the blanket, his dark meditation robe covered in his seed. It was all so tempting, almost too much to handle. He could faintly hear the other RU-598 members moving around him, but he could not give their movements or words much thought. He peered down into the dusty material in the container, and envisioned his Vulcan covered in only that of the Renneral.

 _“No,”_ Sovik sighed to himself moments after envisioning himself releasing his seed over Spock’s taut lips.

_‘The Pon Farr is most certainly not over.’_

His attention was divided when he heard a voice calling his name-- male and drawing closer.

Sovik’s head turned to acknowledge Joseph standing there, his arms crossed and accompanied by a very irked expression. He did not respond; he only stared at the man.

“We were calling you,” Joseph said, finally uncrossing his arms. “We’re ready to start.”

The lid snapped shut, and Sovik pushed the container back to where it belonged. His mind throbbed slightly, missing the scent of the Renneral as it disappeared with the box. Sovik promised himself that he would soon encounter it again.

The two of them walked back into the main area of the lab where all the members of the RU-598 crew was gathered. As one of their colleagues stood up at the front, displaying a diagram of what their projected costs of the Renneral would be for extraction and transportation, Sovik’s eyes shot over to his right where he saw Rebecca sitting, her own fearful and grief stricken.

Sovik turned his attention away from her, wishing he had never seen his dear Rebecca that way. He was always fond of her as one would be for a daughter, and since T’Leia and Sovik had never been successful in that area of life, Sovik felt himself instantly drawn to her.

It pained him when he felt Rebecca lean in and whisper, causing Sovik to dip his head slightly to conceal their conversation from the rest. From everyone who resided in the room, Rebecca was the only one who he would accept such an action from.

“You didn’t kill Captain Kirk, did you?” She questioned, her hands shaking nervously in her lap.

Sovik’s brows lowered, the image of failing so horribly appearing in his mind. And though he would never wish death upon anybody, and the thought of murder being entirely illogical, he still felt this overwhelming regret for having failed to kill the captain. He had tried to apply a simple Tal-shaya, and was not successful.

Why were his abilities faltering? Why couldn’t he perform half the tasks he used to anymore? Tal-shaya, though something Vulcans had to master with time, was something he should have been able to at least partially perform. And yet when he attempted to break the captain’s neck, he was unsuccessful, and therefore had to instead alter Kirk’s consciousness to eliminate the memory of his attempt. At least it had gotten him out of his hair in order to accomplish what he had to with Spock.

“Unfortunately not,” Sovik replied quietly.

He could feel a tense exhale escape Rebecca, and he turned his head to acknowledge her and her relief slightly. He then caught Joseph’s examining eyes, and so he returned his attention to the individual at the front spewing numbers at the group.

A few moments had passed and Sovik heard Rebecca clicking her pen nervously. It was becoming distracting to him, as his ears amplified the noise of each horrid snap. Almost as if she had heard his detestment, her fingers ceased, and she leaned into him again, paused for a moment as he dipped his head again, and then retracted her gesture as if she was scared to speak.

Sovik quieted the room within his head, excluding reality from the link he shared with Spock. _‘Fear, grief, disappointment, disgust.’_ Spock was clearly in distress. He lowered his brows angrily at the thought. How dare Spock dirty their link with such horrendous impulses. He wrinkled his nose in revulsion.

Moments later, Sovik felt a shift in the bond. He had been tentatively tuning into the faint thumping of Spock’s heart, the fear he was emitting, but suddenly he felt a rush of anger and tension lapse against his mind. Spock was enraged, frustrated beyond containment.

The outburst alarmed Sovik momentarily, raising concern for his desired bondmate. He placidly raised his finger to his temple, and strengthened the bond between himself and Spock, prying it open by zeroing all his attention and focus into it. When it was open wide for him to detect, he felt waves and waves of adoration and affection, much like T’Leia had for him through their bond.

 _“Help, please. I love thee, do not let go! I need! I need thee now more than ever!”_ It was curious to hear such thoughts from Spock. Sovik had thought Spock was angry at him... afraid even. Yet these thoughts were undoubtedly laced with sincerity and trust.

Sovik felt himself growing aroused by Spock’s dedication, his loins tingling with pleasure and excitement. His desired bondmate was in need of him. He clearly _desired_ him above all others.

Just as Sovik prepared himself to send his own pulsing desire towards Spock, he felt a foreign presence in Spock’s mind. Something revolting and enraging. Suddenly, he could feel the captain soothing Spock’s consciousness, reassuring him, and calming him tenderly.

“ _What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Spock! I love you! Don’t hide from me! Spock! I love you._ ”

These words enveloped Spock’s mind, causing it to go silent. For a moment, Sovik felt as though Spock was about to speak of him, to release the details of what had occurred within his quarters.

Such emotions never came, and Spock seemed to bask in the comfort of Jim’s mind, their wretched t’hy’la bond beaming and growing. How was it that Sovik had become so intimate with Spock, and discovered aspects of his body, soul and mind that the captain would never know, and yet, their bond was much stronger than his.

Sovik lowered his gaze to his clenched fist. It was somewhat expected that Spock would betray him like this, and so Sovik’s anger wasn’t so much that Spock had done this to him. Instead, his rage was directed at Jim for having reassured Spock that they could possibly work out together. He had worked so hard on feeding off of Spock’s insecurities, trying to make him believe that nobody would love him like he would, and yet there the captain was, easily proving him wrong. He would never be able to bond with Spock with Jim around. He would never be able to escape the fire of Pon Farr… he would never be free with Jim and Spock tightly bound together.

Vengefulness, lust, and anger, built up inside Sovik again. The fires of Pon Farr lit again, and if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the passion he felt for destroying Jim Kirk, he would have been alarmed at how once again his cycle had been altered and brought completely out of sync. He was not supposed to experience the lust and violence of his primal urges so soon after release.

Sovik tore himself away from the chair he had been sitting in, and entered the small room where the fo-weinvaksur used to reside, and where the Renneral was piled into boxes along the table. Sovik could faintly smell the weedy aroma of the substance, and he felt himself rushing with an increase of fiery temper to kill Jim-- to kill him with the same fervor he had used with the plant, with the same intensity he had when he forced his length into Spock’s every orifice.

Just as Sovik gritted his teeth together and felt himself boil with the instinct to decapitate the human who had taken his Vulcan away from him… a new thought dawned on him.

Since his first attempt at harming the captain was such a failure, there was only one other way that Jim would suffer, possibly even greater than death.

What had made T’Leia’s death so difficult for him to bear, was the departure of their once so active bond. When she had died, and the link had dissipated, Sovik had entered such distress that he had thought himself never to live another day without her. He figured that if these feelings of hopelessness and despair were capable of affecting a Vulcan like himself, than it was definite that a human would experience them to a much greater extent.

Yes. Finally Sovik had approached his long time dilemma with logic. He would not have to kill Jim to make the man feel dead. He would simply turn the Vulcan against him, and influence Spock to destroy that dreadful t’hy’la bond once and for all.

-

 

 _“His mother is human, that is why.”_ A familiar voice called out behind Spock, causing him to cringe inward yet remaining passively calm on the outside. The words hurt more than Spock had ever imagined possible, and yet he stayed neutral through their utterances.

_“I do not understand why he lives on Vulcan. It would no doubt be easier for him on Earth where he can express the emotions he likely bears freely.”_

_“No doubt.”_ A chorus of voices agreed.

Their words  were no longer present as Spock felt himself walking away from them, unsure where exactly his feet decided to take him. He pursed his lips tightly together.

As he reached his home, Spock allowed himself into the gates, and followed the narrow path leading up to the house. His eyes never strayed from the path, and his face began to radiate with heat and anger he was none too foreign to ever since he attempted to make friends among the other children.

It was unfair to be so alone, to have only a mother and a father to lean upon during hard and trying times… to have no one to speak with when certain matters were too arduous for parental assistance.

It was _unfair._

The doors were large compared to his small and scrawny figure, and when he finally stepped into the home, he could feel the cooling air of the conditioner hit his face.

This was just another reminder to Spock that he was not like the other Vulcans. The air conditioner his father had installed for Amanda told Spock that his human mother required accommodations to remain on Vulcan with her family, just like the other children had teased him about.

As he travelled through the hall he saw his mother standing in a nearby doorway, staring at him with glossy, distressing eyes. When Spock reached the end of the corridor, he turned his head to meet his mother’s gaze, both of them quiet for a time.

“Spock,” she sighed, approaching him with open arms, bringing him closer into her chest. He could almost feel her heart thudding against his cheek, strangely located there below her breast unlike his own. How could the children say he was not Vulcan when his heart was so much like theirs and not like his mother’s?

Her arms tightened around his shoulders, causing Spock to close his eyes firmly. She rocked his body gently, giving Spock the comforting sensation from when he was a child.

When he was very young--from birth until the age of three--Amanda would take his small body into her arms and gently cradle him, rocking him to the melody of her words.

_“Yuk-tor kan-bu, yuk yuk yuk._

_Run-tor, petakov, run-tor sanok._

_Kup ashaya tu, kup ashaya tu petakov_

_Lara ashaya tu, aylak ashaya tu,_

_Tu tra taluhk, eh kup ashaya tu isha. ,_

_na’ i’, yuk petakov kan-bu. Kup ashaya tu.”_

He was quite young when his mother sang these words, but he remembered the sound of her voice and the comforting way she swayed his body in her arms. Though he was too young to know the meaning of those phrases at the time, he knew that they were laced with love because when his mother spoke them their familial bond flared with veneration.

Amanda had a pleasant voice, and when she sang, it relaxed him like nothing else could. Even though Spock revered the songs of the Taresh-kah--commonly known as the silver birds of Vulcan--he favoured his mother’s above all.

“Spock,” Amanda whispered into his ear, bringing him from his deep intrinsic thoughts of Vulcan’s song birds.

Gently, Spock pulled himself out from his mother's arms, turning back toward the room he was originally set on going to.

“You are very handsome, my son.” Amanda spoke softly in the quietness of the hall. “You are more precious than you will ever know.”

They were just words, words a mother had to say when her son was in such anguish. To her, he would always be precious…

Spock bowed his head appreciatively, entering the room, and quietly shutting it behind him. There he retrieved the Vulcan lute he was learning to master, and when he brought it onto his lap he instantly began plucking at the strings, in tune to the loving melody of his mother’s lullaby.

The notes were elegant, enticing, and absolutely harrowing. He let the music fill him like air filling his lungs. WIthout thinking, his fingers danced across the strings playfully, and suddenly he felt himself beginning to cry. Even with the comfort he felt from his mother’s love… he still harboured so much sadness and uncertainty.

“Wake up.” A deep voice demanded from somewhere, but Spock was too afraid to locate the source. He didn’t want to confront the one who wished to tear him away from this beautiful music he had created.

“Wake up, _now_.” The voice continued, becoming louder and more distracting.

“I do not want to,” Spock begged through tears, barely audible with his strumming.

“Disgusting,” the voice hissed. “Pathetic. If you do not listen to me, I will assure you that your captain will never wake again!”

Spock’s eyes opened wide, his heart beginning to painfully pound in his side. Suddenly the process of simply breathing was more difficult than ever. It felt as though there was a hand pressing into his chest, keeping him down and restricting his lungs.

“Jim?” Spock huffed out, unsure whether or not his voice had carried. When he didn’t hear a response, he assumed that he hadn’t made a sound and attempted to call out his friend’s name again.

Alarmingly, his thoughts developed into something much darker, and he envisioned all the possible dangers Jim was in. Perhaps the reason he hadn’t answered was because he was _incapable_ of answering.

His breathing ceased momentarily, his thoughts running away with him completely. If the thought of his dear captain possibly _being_ hurt or injured wasn’t enough to put him in a complete panic, the thought of him actually being in absolute panic was almost equally as concerning. Since when did he run to such emotional conclusions?

Through the doorway Spock could see a figure. If he had been conscious longer, he would have been able to piece together who had just stepped into his dark room, but as it was, he could not figure it out.

“ _Jim_.” Spock panicked, reminding himself of when Sovik had slipped behind him in bed and started fondling him roughly. He shivered from the memory, feeling his heart leap from his side. “Jim,” Spock repeated, his breath hitched. Had Sovik intruded into Jim’s quarters? If so, was Jim alright?

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” A voice replied, and as soon as he had heard the calm and collected tone, he could feel Jim’s worry caressing his mind. “Computer, lights to fifty percent.”

The lights slowly raised, allowing for both Jim and Spock’s eyes to adjust. When the room was fully lit, Spock could see the tired, yet deeply concerned expression over his captain’s face. Spock felt himself sigh, a rush of relief causing him to melt into the covers.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, opening his mind for Jim’s faint mental impression. It was fascinating how strong the t’hy’la bond was; even without a proper bonding ceremony, they still managed to seep into one another. It was even more amazing that while Sovik had melded with him on a few occasions, and yet, Sovik’s bond was much weaker.

It was exhausting, harbouring numerous links in his mind. There was the familial bond Spock bore between his mother and father and himself, his t’hy’la bond with Jim, and then the link between Sovik. His mind felt crowded, and his entire body felt intruded on.

“Spock, what’s the matter?” Jim asked, standing next to the bed and watching as Spock sat up against the backboard. “Are you feeling alright?”

Slowly Spock’s heart calmed, his eyes looking up at Jim thankfully. “You are unharmed,” Spock murmured more to himself. His eyes looked over Jim’s head where the concussion was likely located.

“I’m fine,” Jim chuckled softly, bringing one of his hands to the blanket.

Spock nodded; of course he was fine. Nothing had happened. Sovik was likely never here and Jim was never attacked. He felt silly for worrying so much over fantastical fantasies. He dropped his head shamefully, looking down at Jim’s blanket warmly protecting him. His eyes trailed back up to Jim.

It was odd, this feeling of waking up in such a disarray. He couldn’t comprehend the situation he had woken up in, and now he could not figure the time, his internal clock equally as exhausted as the rest of him. “Is it 17:00?”

Jim yawned, peering over to the chronometer on the night table by the bed. “No, it’s 2:40 in the morning.” His eyes returned to Spock’s fondly.

Spock’s eyes opened wide. “You did not wake me.” His tone was shocked and somewhat anxious.

“Why would I?” Jim asked, feeling his eyelids droop slightly with exhaustion. “You were finally sleeping so peacefully.”

“I was needed elsewhere at 17:00,” Spock replied sternly, feeling a large amount of fear envelope his mind.

“Where?” Jim asked, his voice less concerned than Spock had hoped he would sound.

‘Where’ indeed, Spock thought to himself. A better question would have been, why, or for what? He wasn’t sure what Sovik had planned on doing upon his arrival. Was it for assistance as he had required prior to the attack, or was it for something… darker?

Spock remained silent for a while making Jim feel nervous. “Where did you have to go Spock?” Why wasn’t he answering?

“It was not important.” Spock spoke quietly, easing into the wall, thinking how illogical it was that he was keeping secrets from Jim. But, if Spock had talked about Sovik to him, he ran the risk of possibly speaking about the… the…

 _Rape_. Spock shuddered as he thought about it. The pain. The helplessness, the entrapment. Everything had hurt in regards to it, and he had trouble fathoming at times that it had happened. Part of him felt avoidant to the issue. He felt as though he were repelling the truth constantly, trying to convince himself that it didn’t really happen, that Sovik hadn’t come into his room, and forced himself inside him, physically, and mentally.

“You’re right,” Jim sighed, blinking his eyes slowly. “You need to focus on sleeping.”

Spock looked up at Jim, realizing the tired expression on his friend’s face. “You appear to be exhausted, Jim. Have you been working up until now?”

Jim shook his head, smiling gently at Spock. “No. I worked on my computer for about two hours after you went to sleep. Then I came in here, put the blanket over you, and I slept myself.”

“On the sofa?” Spock asked, feeling immense guilt building up inside him.

Jim nodded.

“You should have woken me.” Spock frowned, pushing the blanket off him shyly. He felt as though removing the blanket was like removing a layer of clothing, and that he was left naked under Jim’s gaze. It was illogical, and it was strange to him to feel this way, but he did. And the prospect of having Jim view him naked was absolutely appalling at the moment.

“So that I could make you sleep on the couch?” Jim laughed in disbelief, crossing his arms. “I don’t think so.”

“This is your quarters, Jim. I only wished to utilize your sofa until 17:00. It was not my intention to sleep on the bed, let alone to sleep until now.”

“But you did, and you are.” Jim smiled. “And you can keep sleeping here, I don’t mind.”

“Yes,” Spock agreed, sitting up at the edge of the bed now, closing his eyes shamefully. “But you require more sleep than I. You have injured your head and I have been selfish to take your bed from you.” He timidly turned his head to look over at Jim, his eyes regretful. “For that I apologize.”

Jim lowered his brows in frustration, “Spock, I said it was fine… I…”

“This is not up for debate. I have my own quarters I should be returning to. You require rest.”

“Spock…”

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock interrupted, stepping off the bed, and fixing the blanket over it neatly so that it appeared as though he were never there. “I shall no doubt see you in a few hours.”

Jim remained silent for a time, questioning Spock with his eyes.

Spock moved toward the door so quickly, Jim didn’t get the opportunity to try to convince him to stay. He slowly followed Spock to the other room, but once he got there, the sound of the front door opening and closing was heard, and Spock was gone.

There was a moment when Spock considered going back to his own quarters. He could attempt to meditate, possibly clean up after what had happened and permanently destroy the evidence of Sovik… but he didn’t. He couldn’t seem to bring himself through the door, and as he stood in front of it contemplating entering or not, Spock felt as though he were being judged by a million eyes, pressuring him to just ‘ _suck it up’_ and enter.

He turned away, trying to figure where he should go. Should he shame himself further and return to his captain’s quarters? It seemed the only place he could possibly relax in. He could take his Vulcan lute and play it in one of the rec rooms like he used to do, but he didn’t wish to attract any attention.

Without any indication of where he was going, Spock headed toward the bridge, his mind still considering taking the Vulcan lute and strumming it somewhere in private. When he finally reached the bridge, Spock peered around at the night crew and shivered when their attention turned towards him. For a moment, he felt as if every person knew, as if he was standing before them completely naked and they could see the dreaded hand prints on his hips, and waist.

His eyes turned away from theirs, instantly walking toward his scanner which was not being utilized. Calmly he stood before it, taking every measure not to sit, for fear of causing discomfort in the more intimate areas that Sovik had injured.

It wasn’t entirely better returning to work and doing his duties after such a traumatic experience. In fact, he wasn’t rightly sure what task he was really accomplishing. Part of him wondered if he was merely only looking through his scanner, peering at the stars and the planets passing them by, and seeing what lifeforms existed and how many. He was not recording, merely feeding his curiosity.

He was being useless, taking the scanner away from someone who could possibly use it much more efficiently at the moment. For some reason, that thought didn’t occur to him because from everywhere on the ship besides Jim’s quarters, this was the only place he felt safe.

-

 

“He will not come,” Sovik snapped, his hands balled into fists, slamming them into the table beneath him.

Rebecca lowered her eyes, looking wistfully into the cup of coffee in her grasp. “Maybe we should speak with the capt… I mean… the doctor. We should speak to the doctor.” She corrected herself, feeling quite foolish for almost asking Sovik to speak with the captain about his medical dilemma. She knew more than anyone how much Sovik despised him, though she could not understand why. James Kirk was a remarkable man.

There was something about Captain Kirk that made Rebecca smile--something so enticing about his personality, the way he walked and talked and looked. It made her feel as though she was having her first crush. It was nothing she would ever attempt to develop further, but it was strange how he had that effect on her. He was a hero, a celebrity, and if that wasn’t enough to get her motor running, he also reminded her of her dear Joseph.

Her heart sank at the thought of Joseph. If only he knew the wretched person she truly was. The secrets she was withholding from him. It was almost as though he knew though, as she felt like ever since they boarded the Enterprise they were slowly drifting apart.

Sovik hadn’t replied to her previous query, his eyes steady and stern against the back wall. It was clear to her that he was not ready to let the RU-598 project, his and T’Leia’s _child,_ out of his hands. If they told the captain, or a doctor of this matter, they would surely lose it all. Oddly enough, with T’Leia deceased and Sovik in this unique condition, Rebecca was the next beneficiary of the project, making it so that if Sovik was no longer available, she would gain all rights and ownership over all decisions regarding the Renneral, and its crew.

Still, even with this in mind, Rebecca desperately didn’t want it to come to that. Sure, there would be fame, there would be great fortune, but she did not want Sovik to lose so much. After T’Leia’s death, she wasn’t sure that Sovik was capable of losing the Renneral, not after all he had put into it.

She sighed, mentally hoping and praying that it would never come to such a thing.

“I burn, Rebecca, and he is the only one who can assist me.” Sovik’s eyes turned over to her. “I _need_ Spock.”

It was like a stab to the heart. It did not take a scientist to realize that Sovik had raped Spock the previous day. Before Sovik had entered this _Pon Farr frenzy_ , he was a remarkable person. He was sensitive, kind, intelligent--much different from the cold brooding individual he had become. It was after Sovik found release that he came off as his old self, and when he had returned to the labs yesterday, she was convinced Sovik had permanently returned to normal. However, this was clearly not the case. She had only to assume that he had gained relief from Spock, especially considering how bright he would get when he spoke of him.

She sighed again, peering over towards the chronometer on the wall. _6:47_. It was too early for her to to run over and search the Enterprise for Spock with Sovik, but just the right time for the captain and his first officer to return to the bridge.

As much as it pained her to consider it, she approached the intercom on the wall, building up the courage to shatter another living being’s life into pieces. The RU-598 project meant to much to her, to Sovik, and her loved ones. It was the foundation of her career, her income, her life, not to mention Sovik’s.

She closed her eyes tightly, pressing her finger into the the comm unit on the wall. If Spock would not come to see Sovik, then he would likely come for someone else. “Bridge this is Dr. Durrell.”

“ _Bridge here, Lieutenant Uhura speaking_.”

“Lieutenant Uhura, I require Commander Spock’s assistance.”

-

 

Jim entered the lift, the headache he had been sporting becoming more and more at ease. He considered the events of last night, thinking about how odd Spock’s behaviour was, and how badly he wanted to hold him and ask him what was wrong.

When Spock had left, Jim felt anxious. Did Spock return to his quarters? Did he get enough sleep? Did he eat enough?

The doors to the lift opened and Jim’s eyes instantly moved to Spock’s station, where the Vulcan was peering into his scanner, and his hands resting on the base of it.

“Captain on the bridge.” An ensign announced, standing that much more straighter for his arrival.

Spock looked back to Jim, his expression blank and untelling. When Jim took his first steps into the room, he watched Spock turn his head away instantly to his work.

Before Jim could question the events of Spock’s night, he was interrupted by Uhura, informing him of their communication failure with the Starbase they were headed for.

“Have Scotty come up here and look over the communication station, with your assistance of course,” Jim informed, stepping down a level to where his chair was.

The doors opened again, and Jim desperately hoped that it had been Yeoman Rand with her spectacular morning dose of caffeine. When he raised his head from the PADD that had just been handed to him, he saw Janice, but failed to smell her specialty coffee.

“It’s still brewing, Sir.” She smiled, knowing exactly what he was in search of. “Unless you would like me to synthesize you a cup?”

“No.” Jim returned the smile as well as the PADD. “That’s quite alright, I’ll wait.”

Uhura picked up her earpiece, answering an in-ship communication. “Bridge here, Lieutenant Uhura speaking.” She paused, listening to the message carefully. “Commander Spock, Rebecca Durrell requires your assistance in the RU-598 labs.”

‘ _Rebecca_?’ Spock thought to himself. ‘ _Not Sovik_?’ He turned back to face Jim, not surprised when the captain was looking back at him with an equal amount of curiosity.

“I will be gone for a short time,” Spock announced to the captain, stepping off the bridge hesitantly. As much as he trusted Rebecca, he did not so much feel comfortable in the presence of the Renneral, and the crew of the RU-598 project. What was once an intense interest of his had now become something weary to him.

The walk to the labs seemed longer than it used to when he had trusted Sovik, before all his security and confidence had been torn away. It was like a walk of pure shame and misery as he approached the doors with caution, allowing them to open and reveal the lab so that he could investigate it with his eyes before entering.

Rebecca was in the main area alone, her hands shaking around a cup of coffee, wearing an expression of horror and anguish. Those eyes alone were enough to push Spock into the room.

“Ms. Durrell?” Spock questioned softly, not wanting to startle the woman and possibly worsen the situation. He had learned from many of the humans aboard this ship, that they were extremely sensitive creatures who became startled very easily.

“Commander Spock?” Rebecca’s glossy eyes looked up at the handsome Vulcan standing before her, a stream of tears falling from both eyes. “You’re here.” She pointed out obviously, and if Spock wasn’t so deeply concerned for her safety and well-being, he would have no doubt pointed this out to her.

“I am. Might I ask what has caused you such distress?” Spock asked, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” Rebecca replied instantly. “I mean, yes you can ask, but I mean no, there’s nothing wrong..” she answered awkwardly, stumbling over her own thoughts.

Spock raised a brow. “You required my assistance Ms. Durrell.”

“I know,” she snuffled, looking down at her trembling hands.

Spock did not miss this, “Ms. Durrell…”

“Don’t call me that,” Rebecca snapped, feeling frustrated with Spock’s outpouring concern, respect and good nature. “Just… don’t call me that. Call me Rebecca.”

“I apologize for the offense,” Spock replied, looking around at the seemingly empty room, ignoring the side lab in which he knew Sovik often occupied.

“You’re not offending… don’t ever think that,” she replied quietly.

“Indeed?” Spock felt confused, wondering why she had called for his assistance, and why she was telling him such things.

“I need you to come with me,” she sighed, standing up from her stool and walking toward the small room at the side. Spock paused hesitantly, not wanting to follow. “It’s okay, Commander Spock, just come with me.”

Spock nodded, feeling as though he would be behaving out of line, or illogically, if he did not. It was merely Rebecca who needed his assistance, and Rebecca was not Sovik. She was kind, she was honourable, and she had never deceived him or the captain before.

“Are you having difficulty with some of our equipment, or do you require…” Spock paused just outside the door of the room, the link between him and Sovik opening wide, and threatening him. ‘ _Spock, come in, enter, I need… I burn.”_

“I need your help with Sovik.” The door opened, revealing darkness. “He needs you.”

Spock wanted to run. He wanted to turn to Rebecca and inform her of how dishonourable and deceptive that had been. He felt abused not only from Sovik, but from the woman who had brought him to his feet, like he was a service to them, not a starship Chief Science Officer, or First Officer.

“No.” Spock almost pleaded toward Rebecca, noticing the way she turned her eyes away from him.

“Spock,” Sovik spoke inside the room, their link becoming stronger the closer they became. “Enter, or I will be forced to do something rather unfortunate to my assistant.”

Spock looked down at Rebecca. Was this a mindless threat of Sovik’s? Perhaps. But when it came to Pon Farr, nothing was certain, and he could understand how Sovik’s heat could lead to such senseless violence.

Rebecca didn’t deserve his protection; she didn’t deserve for him to look at her as if she did, and yet as he stepped cautiously into the room, he turned back to look into Rebecca’s eyes. Just before the doors closed, the woman brought her hand up to her mouth to stifle a cry, and moved away, allowing for Sovik to have his way with Spock like some hungry animal over a piece of meat.

She sat herself down on the stool, wondering to herself how long this would take. What would Sovik do and how badly would Spock be hurt. It pained her to even consider the bruises and the markings that Sovik would leave on his body. She shivered from the memory of her own brief encounter with Sovik months ago.

Was the Renneral worth it? Was it worth the torture and the loss of a good person’s sanity and security? To break someone down from the inside out, and to tear him away from the ones he loved? Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest.

Then there was the love she felt for Joseph and Sovik surfacing. The way she had promised Sovik that she would make the RU-598 project as successful as possible to make T’Leia proud. She wanted to prove to Joseph that the RU-598 project wasn’t for nothing, and that all their time on Stronos was worth it. She wanted to be rich, to raise a family and to go down in history as one of the most brilliant scientists in the universe. Was one man’s torture not worth all that good fortune?

She buried her face into her hands. “I’m sorry, Spock… I’m sorry,” she whispered

-

 

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Sovik’s hands instantly found Spock’s throat, his stiffening cock pressing into Spock’s backside. “You disgust me.” He hissed into Spock’s ear, biting down on the lobe painfully. “You are filthy, and dishonourable.”

There was no opportunity for a reply. Spock could feel himself growing lightheaded, and he slumped slightly, clawing at Sovik’s fingers to release him, but failing.

“After what we have done together, you find it necessary to burden your captain for more affection?” He released his neck, turning him around roughly. “Did you not feel our bond? Did that not remind you that I own you now? That the captain should mean nothing to you? I have mated with you and you shall not go around offering yourself to others.”

Spock gasped for air, smelling the faint scent of the Renneral filling the room obviously there had been open boxes of it lying around, and he couldn’t manage to focus between the aroma and Sovik’s words. “I am not yours.”

“You did not consider those things did you?” Sovik continued his train of thought, ignoring Spock’s denial. “You were too focussed on bringing yourself pleasure from that… that… _human._ ” The word human slithered from his lips as if it were venom.

“I was not deriving pleasure from my captain,” Spock shamefully responded, unsure why he was trying to please Sovik that way. Most likely because he bore the strength of three Vulcans now that he was obviously in heat again, as well as aroused.

Sovik opened his pants, allowing his cock to press against Spock’s stomach. “We will be bonded Spock. You have dishonoured our people, and our heritage by attempting to seduce your horrid captain.”

Spock pushed his hands against Sovik’s chest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp and away from Sovik’s hard member; the memories of their first encounter were causing him to panic. He didn’t want to feel Sovik inside him, he didn’t want to hear his dirty thoughts or to lose his control over himself. He desperately wished he had never left Jim’s quarters.

“Do you feel shame?” Sovik growled, clenching Spock’s jaw in his right hand, threatening to dislocate it. “You _should_ feel shame. Do you think your captain wants a used, shameless, disgusting _thing_ like yourself? Something that is bonded already, yet seeking sexual encounters from anything that has power or moves?”

“Stop,” Spock attempted to speak through Sovik’s tight hold on him. “It is not true.”

“It is!” Sovik yelled, thrusting his hips against Spock’s body dryly. “You only desire him for his position and his power. You desire anything with dominance over you, and that is why you desire me so much. Because I am stronger, I am powerful, and I am tempting.”

“This is not true,” Spock grunted just as Sovik’s hands both retreated to the hem of his science tunic, “I do not desire you.”

“That is not what our first encounter tells us,” Sovik snarled, lifting the shirt forcefully over Spock’s head, catching for a moment over his ears. “You wished to help me, you brought me pleasure and release. I feel it in our bond Spock… you desire me. And since you desire me, you cannot desire Kirk.”

The cold nipped at his chest, causing his nipples to tense slightly. He felt himself shivering intensely, and wished that he had at least left his black t-shirt on which he wore under the tunic. The Enterprise was regularly cold considering his species, and so wearing the extra layer helped him regulate it in a way.

“Computer,” Sovik announced. “Lights at fifty percent.”

The lights rose, displaying Spock’s naked chest for Sovik to hunger over. Before the lights had fully been lifted, Sovik’s lips were already lapping over his erect nipples and biting on them painfully. “Your skin is delicious.”

“Stop, Sovik,” Spock heaved for a breath, trying to bring his foot up to push Sovik off of him, but he could not squeeze it between their tightly bound bodies.

“And you wish for me to make this enjoyable for you?” Sovik spat back, biting over the skin below his pectorals and over the ribs. “After how you have hurt and angered me?” Sovik lifted his head to press their foreheads  together, their eyes meeting sternly. “I will not be gentle.”

“Sovik,” Spock pleaded, feeling Sovik back their bodies up until Spock’s backside hit the desk, and thudded down onto it painfully. “I do not belong to you. I have not consented to the bond between us and therefore…”

“Did not consent?” Sovik almost laughed, but it came out more as speaking through his teeth bitterly. “You wished to assist me, you did not stop me. Any Vulcan could have stopped me.”

“I endeavored to do so,” Spock whispered, as Sovik broke the button and the zipper off of Spock’s pants, tearing them down his legs, and leaving scratches behind as his nails trailed behind. “Sovik, _stop_.” Spock felt his shields fall again, all security and logic abandoning him. He felt hot tears welling up in his eyes.

Sovik bit at Spock’s neck viciously, breaking the skin in various places. “You do not belong to the captain. You belong to me,” Sovik growled, “You have willingly bonded with me, though you did not consciously consider it before I entered your quarters. I could tell from the moment I boarded your ship, you found me fascinating, you _desired_ me.”

Suddenly Spock’s underwear was gone as well, and he was on top of the lab table completely naked, and shivering.

A hand clapped against his cheek painfully, reminding Spock that this would not go without extreme pain. He closed his eyes, his head now turned toward the wall where he could see some of the Renneral that had spilled from Sovik pushing him onto the table.

“You are so beautiful,” Sovik murmured, worshiping his body with his hands. “We will bond. You owe this to me for being unfaithful in our bond.”

The mental shields were completely gone now, and Spock felt Sovik’s mind intruding on his own. “Please Sovik, do not do this. Once was all I can handle.”

“I _need_ you, I _crave_ you.” Sovik replied through his teeth. “I will _never_ have enough of your enticing body.”

And with that, Spock watched Sovik’s hands dip into the moist Renneral cups, the ones Spock decided was his least favourite to study. They were slimy, they were dirty, and they were very rich in Renneral, making the scent much stronger than the other samples.

The Renneral was freezing when it touched his skin, Sovik’s fingers caressing and gliding across his chest and shoulders, finally finding his nipples again and giving them a firm and uncomfortable squeeze. “Your body is so attractive Spock,” he said as he began tugging on the sensitive nubs.

He did not feel attractive. He felt dirty. Sovik was right, he had been selfish the night before, going to his captain’s quarters, embracing his captain, and even feeling euphoric from the gentleness of his lips against his cheek. If that interaction hadn’t been enough, Spock had slept in those quarters, taking the bed away from his injured captain. Sovik was absolutely right. He had behaved very much indecently.

Furthermore, Spock had become aware of Sovik’s confusion. Perhaps he had failed to emphasise that his _attraction_ to Sovik was not personal-- it was very much professional. He had, at one time, found Sovik fascinating for the work he had accomplished… for being so advanced in his studies and bringing such honour to their home world. However, Sovik must have confused this for an intimate reaction. Spock had likely lead him on, and for that Spock felt a bundle of guilt, disgust and anger build up in his stomach. How could he do that to himself, to Sovik… and to Jim?

Spock felt incredibly dizzy, his head spinning, undergoing an almost out of body experience. It was nearly as if he were watching Sovik and himself on the table. This could not be possible and yet he watched as Sovik gathered more of the Renneral, and traced it over his limp cock, then further down until he was forcefully inserting his covered fingers into his tight orifice. There was no warning to this action, and he reacted by clenching the muscles there to stop him, causing more friction upon entrance.

“No!” Spock yelled, trying to raise his hand off the table; however, he could not do so. He felt his entire body growing lax and lazy on the table, unmoving and unresponsive to his mental chaos.

He reached his ultimate last resort, calling out to Jim’s mind through their very faint link. He did not wish for Sovik and his bond to grow stronger than his and Jim’s. In fact, he did not wish to lose the t’hy’la bond at all, even if he knew he had to for the sake of Jim’s wellbeing and happiness.

Three fingers were pushed into his body, causing Spock to squirm on the cold flat surface of the table. The Renneral managed to burn the walls of Spock’s rectum, highlighting every injury and tear that Sovik had managed to inflict upon him during their first encounter.  

“Sovik! Sovik! It is painful!” Spock sputtered out, his heart beating uncontrollably. He managed to find enough energy to lean upwards with the support of one of his hands, then to reach his other and tightly hold on to Sovik’s shoulder. “It burns.”

One of the coated hands moved over Spock’s mouth, silencing Spock from pleading further, and weakening his position enough to push him back onto the table. Once he was repositioned on the table, his ankles on Sovik’s shoulders, Sovik then plunged his fingers in fiercely, creating a unpredictable and unceremonious rhythm.

Spock grunted with each forward push, and he clenched his eyes, trying to tell himself to relax the muscles, find a comforting spot in his mind and relax. Pain was something of the mind, and if he could control the mind then he could control the situation.

He failed.

Sovik removed his fingers quickly, lifting Spock’s hips upwards so that he could look at the tiny gaping hole he had just penetrated with his fingers. He took the cup of the Renneral in hand, dripping it over it one last time, as an extra load of lubrication.

“You are lucky that I  have prepared you like this,” Sovik growled, coating his cock in his precious Renneral as well.

Spock swallowed hard, feeling himself growing weaker and more nauseous. He closed his eyes, realizing that he had nothing under him to ground himself. He would have to rely solely on Sovik not to fall off and hurt himself, because Spock was unsure whether or not he possessed the power to catch himself if such a thing would happen.

He felt the pressure of Sovik’s length pushing against his posterior, struggling to gain access, even with the added lubrication. When he finally felt it making progress, and pushing past the first ring of muscle, Sovik wasted no time getting himself into the rhythm he desired. Already he started swinging his hips forward painfully, crashing their skin together with loud smacking sounds.

“Sovik,” Spock exhaled, hitting his head against the table in frustration. He could contain the pain he was feeling, the constant lapping of Sovik’s consciousness against his.

 _“Your body, so tight, so warm, so willing. You and I forever Spock… my mind to your mind. My heart to yours. Parted from me, and never parted. Never and always touching and touched,”_ Sovik’s mind spoke, just as Spock realized that his hand was pressed into his psi points firmly.

“I beg you, Sovik!” Spock cried, feeling the tears running down his cheek quietly.

He could feel the layer of Renneral that had been forced into his body, mingling with blood, and running down the globes of his ass. Spock’s head became increasingly dizzier.

“Do you still love your captain when I fill you like this? When I link our minds together like this and strengthen our bond?” Sovik asked, somehow thinking he was coming across as possibly tender or loving.

When Spock didn’t answer, Sovik grabbed his head by his hair, slamming it back agains the table. “Tell me you desire me! Tell me how much you wish for me to take you faster and deeper!”

There was no reply again, causing Sovik to grit his teeth, picking up the pace, hammering into his victim with the fire only Pon Farr could provide. He took hold of the black hair once more, and gave it one final slam causing Spock’s entire head to spin, blurring the entire room until he could not recognize where the exit was, or even where he was.

“Say it!” Sovik screamed into his sensitive ear, chomping down on the point bitterly afterwards.

“Stop!” Spock yelled back, trying to find some kind of energy to throw the large Vulcan off of him, but with the room blurring and the pain screaming in his head, he could not find any. He remained motionless and vulnerable on the table, gasping for air.

Sovik’s hands slinked up to his throat. “Say it, or I will make this hurt.”

Was it supposed to be comfortable now? Spock wondered, deciding not to ask. He wasn’t sure why he feared Sovik so much; he knew that if he was given enough rest he would be able to have a fighting chance against him, and yet he was terrified of him-- terrified of the way his large hands sought pleasure from wrapping themselves around his neck, restricting his air and watching him suffer. He had no doubt that Sovik would carry through his threats against Jim, and for that he decided to comply.

“I do not remember what you wish me to say,” Spock rasped out, not sure if he had even heard what Sovik had asked. How did Sovik expect him to be able to say anything other than stop, no, and a variety of grunts.

“Tell me how much you love this inside your weak body,” Sovik huffed, pressing his lips against Spock’s as his thrusting became more erratic, semen seeping deep into his channel, and yet not completely spent. “Tell me how superior I am to your pathetic captain.”

Spock tightly shut his eyes, crying out slightly in an array of awkward grunts and moans. He didn’t want to say such things about the captain, not when he was so sweet and gentle with him. He remembered the feeling of Jim’s lips against his swollen cheek, and the way he had cradled him, and rocked him like his mother used to when he was a child.

That was something Spock loved about Jim, the way he reminded him of his mother. She was largely into literature, science, and other human characteristics that he found odd, such as stuffing his toes in her mouth when he was a toddler, and the way she would give each character in her stories a different voice. Her personality was magical, and the more he got to know Jim, the more he seemed to understand his mother. The intimate interactions between his mother and father made more sense the more in love he became with Jim.

How could Sovik ever compare to man who made him understand so much.

“Say it,” Sovik growled through his teeth, tightening his grip on Spock’s neck. The pressure there had become so overbearing, Spock could feel his last brush of air leave his lungs, causing his already bruised throat to feel even more raw and bothered. He couldn’t breath any longer. Sovik hands had finally accomplished what they had sought out to do, and Spock knew he had only moments before the lack of air could permanently damage him.

_‘I’m sorry Jim… I’m sorry mother… I’m sorry…’_

Spock’s lips groped the air, trying to show Sovik that he was trying to display the words he had wished him to speak, and even though he hated himself for doing this, it was absolutely necessary for his survival. He felt his face growing hot the more he struggled.

Sovik noticed this instantly, gradually releasing his grip on Spock’s neck but not allowing Spock to escape either. He peered down at Spock, waiting for him to do as he was told.

“I like you in my weak body,” Spock repeated in a singular, monotone. “You are superior.”

“To whom Spock, who am I superior to?” Sovik almost smiled, thrusting his hips angrily into Spock’s body, watching him struggle for air.

Brokenly, and with a shiver of regret, Spock answered in a whisper, “My captain.” He then winced at a particularly movement of Sovik’s hips.  

He felt Sovik’s thrusting slow, and then his length removed from between his legs. For a moment Spock caught a glimpse of the green blood mixed with the gray of the Renneral coating Sovik’s cock. Spock couldn’t manage to catch his breath, fearing the size and length of the intrusion now more than ever now that he had a good look at it. It was odd how he never saw the details of Sovik’s genitals, and yet he was physically split open on it for hours.

Tears gathered in Spock’s eyes. He brought his fingers to his mouth, not wishing to stimulate himself, but to stifle the cries he felt bunching up in his chest and throat. As his eyes closed, he felt Sovik’s hand grab him by the jaw again. “Eyes open.”

He looked up at his attacker, hating the pleasant expression on Sovik’s face.

There was no action for a moment as Sovik merely looked over his body, admiring the way his beloved Renneral made Spock look dirty and delicious.

Abruptly Sovik shoved Spock’s body over, turning him onto his belly, and hiking his posterior into the air so that he could access what he wished again. He dribbled another large amount of Renneral over Spock’s lower back, watching it trail down the cleft of his rear, and without any hesitation or warning, he slipped his member inside again, thrusting as fast as he could manage.

The table rocked, tipping one of the jars of Renneral by Spock’s head, and spilling its contents before rolling off and crashing on the floor. Spock could not manage to grab it in time; in fact, he could not manage to raise his hand to attempt it at all.

Sovik’s messy fingers forced their way into Spock’s mouth, as he continued his filthy monologue regarding how pleasurable his body was and how much he desired it.

Suddenly the high pitch shrill of the red alert sounded throughout the room, picking Spock’s head up off the desk. He tried to claw his way off the table and out of Sovik’s grasp again. “I am needed, Sovik, please release me!”

Sovik bit down on the skin over Spock’s shoulder, causing Spock to gasp in pain, “No, you will remain here!”

“I _cannot._ I am required on the bridge!” Spock yelled back, not knowing which way he could possibly escape with Sovik holding him so tightly. He knew he would not make it to the bridge, not with his head spinning the way it was, or his stomach turning, or the quivering feeling in his knees. He was in no condition to save the ship, and yet Spock’s mind was convinced otherwise.

Sovik pressed his hand into Spock’s head, keeping it down and immobile, “Do you want me to make this pleasant, or painful? It is your choice Spock.”

Spock whimpered, feeling his mind going out of focus again. For some reason, all heroics had escaped him, and nothing mattered. The pain, the red alert, the threats…. nothing. All he could feel was the dizziness, and the way Sovik’s mind whispered into his.

“I will take care of you forever, Spock. I will cherish thee for life.” He heard Sovik say, feeling a load of semen being released into his channel.

Sovik’s arms hooked under his chest, playing with his nipples and holding onto his rib cage, repeating those words over and over again into his ear. “I will take care of you forever, Spock. I will cherish thee for life.”

And on the fifth time he had said it, Spock entered complete darkness, with the chorus of Sovik’s words suddenly warping into one he was much more fond of, one he found complete and utter comfort in…

His mother’s voice enveloping his mind, softly singing...

_“Yuk-tor kan-bu, yuk yuk yuk._

_Run-tor, petakov, run-tor sanok._

_Kup ashaya tu, kup ashaya tu petakov_

_Lara ashaya tu, aylak ashaya tu,_

_Tu tra taluhk, eh kup ashaya tu isha. ,_

_na’ i’, yuk petakov kan-bu. Kup ashaya tu.”_

-

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation::::  
> sleepy baby sleep sleep sleep,  
> Dream darling, dream pleasant.  
> I love you, I love you darling  
> the lara’s love you, the aylak loves you  
> You are precious and I love you too  
> but for now, sleep darling baby, I love you
> 
> I know they are cheesy, but rhyming and making lullaby's in another language is HARD!!! lol...
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. PLEASE know that I do not find any of Sovik's actions acceptable, and do not wish to glorify it in any way.... If this has come across as such, please let me know through tumblr @ i-am-cem, and or my email, iamcemxox@gmail.com !
> 
> LLAP !!! <3


	12. Surrender Gracefully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to plaidshirtjimkirk who not only went through and found all my grammar errors... she reworked the bridge scenes, feeding me lines that would make more sense and what not so that it flowed much better!! I love plaidshirtjimkirk. She always does so much for me, and she this ENTIRE CHAPTER IS JUST ONE BIG FAT DEDICATION TO HER because she gave me the idea to change it into this awesomeness, as well as some great details which has made this chapter much MUCH better, as well as the story. Thank you also to the readers of this story who keep reading!!! It truly means the world to see my story is being understood and accepted by so many. Thank you kindly. :)
> 
> AS FOR THIS CHAPTER... WARNINGS ARE AS FOLLOWS.... sexual content, non con content, violence. There is xxx's placed before and after for the easily triggered. This will be one of the last hardcore rape scenes for a while I BELIEVE... and please know that it's painful for me to write these scenes, and that each and every moment Spock goes through this torture it is for a purpose in this story and not just for the hell of it. I do break along with him everytime... <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper my friends. <3333

**Surrender Gracefully**

 

The room was almost silent, aside from the sound of gentle clicking against the PADD each man held. Both of them were so entirely engrossed in the task at hand that neither looked up from the screens--even as the people around them insisted on becoming louder, almost obnoxiously so.

As a crowd of young engineers laughed in the corner, Joseph’s eyes eased up from his PADD to look at his red-haired friend beside him. He rolled his eyes gently.

“What?” Simon laughed, placing his own PADD in his lap to give the man his full attention.

“What?” Joseph groaned, finally dropping the device in his lap in favour of running his fingers through his hair irritatedly.

Simon raised one of his brows, inspecting his friend carefully before finally placing his hands behind his head lazily. “Come on, you’ve been angry all morning. What’s the matter?”

Joseph exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as calmly as possible. “I don’t know.” He opened them again, leaning his elbow onto the arm rest.

“You don’t know why you’re pissed?” Simon chuckled, shaking his head softly before diverting his attention to the PADD again. “That can’t be healthy.”

“I’m not pissed, just… frustrated.” He admitted lowly as he looked at his long-time friend with an exhausted expression.

“Thing’s not going well with Rebecca?” Simon asked, placing the PADD on his knee, drumming his fingers across the blacked out screen almost nervously.

Both their eyes met for a second before Joseph lifted his head and leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch. “Why is that always your first assumption?You always think it’s something to do with Becky.” He smirked amusedly, yet feelings of irritation still present.

“Am I right?” Simon asked, raising both brows knowingly.

There was silence for a moment, except for the second round of laughter coming from the group of rowdy engineers on the far side of the room.

“And _that’s_ why I always assume it’s Rebecca,” Simon explained, lifting the PADD once again to peer at the screen urgently, then shifting it to rest against his thigh in frustration. “So what’s happened this time?”

Joseph groaned under his breath, trying to appear as though he wasn’t having this conversation in public. He wasn’t one to flaunt his personal life to others, especially--for some reason--individuals who as well educated as those working aboard the Enterprise.

“I just don’t think she’s as interested in me as she used to be.” He explained quickly in a mumble, partially wanting to avoid the subject all together, yet wanting desperately some advice from his friend.

“Not as interested?” Simon chuckled softly to himself. “She’s probably busy or something.”

Joseph shrugged one shoulder, his eyes dropping to his shiny black loafers--wondering to himself whether he was merely imaging the struggle in his relationship, or if it was in fact real.

“Joe,” Simon continued, finally realizing his friend wasn’t in the mood to joke around, “Why do you think she’s not interested anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Joseph began with a sigh, “She spends so much time with Sovik. She’s been jumpy, nervous, and avoiding me.”

Simon tilted his head, raising his brow suspiciously, “Do you think she’s _interested_ in Sovik?” He couldn’t help but laugh in his disbelief.

“Maybe,” Joseph mumbled, “But I think she’s just growing apart from me. You know, with her being the second in command and all, she’s probably realizing that she doesn’t need me anymore.”

As conspicuously as possible, Simon leaned into his friend, motioning him to do the same. “If I can speak off the record for a moment, I think Sovik’s your problem.” He watched as Joseph pulled away from him, eyeing him cautiously. “Think about it, remember T’Leia? After her accident, Rebbecca… changed.”

The accident. Joseph tightly shut his eyes, remembering everything in perfect detail. The way Sovik had turned in on himself completely, and the way T’Leia had screamed before her moment of death. He remembered it all, and as he did he felt himself shudder.

 _“Joe,”_ he recalled Rebecca saying a day after the horrid event, “ _Things have gone horribly wrong. Whatever happens to Sovik, we can’t tell the others.”_

It had made perfect sense at the time. When T’Leia had died the project was in full swing. They had contacted Starfleet, they had scheduled a starship for transport, and every member on the team had been on the way to becoming well known and highly respected. Why would they risk any of that?

And yet, it was all so confusing. From what Joseph had known of Sovik was that he trusted no one. When T’Leia had been around, Sovik was a much more understandable individual; however, it seemed the longer they remained on Stronos--and the longer they were without T’Leia-- the worse his condition became.

Joseph believed Simon, and why not? They had known each other for eleven years now and he had never lied to him yet. If Simon said that Sovik likely had something to do with his and Rebecca’s relationship, then he was probably right.

There had always been a sneaking suspicion in Joseph’s mind, telling him that T’Leia didn’t just _get sick_ like Rebecca had told him. His intuition had somehow told him that Sovik had _killed_ her.

It was a plausible thought. The months leading up to T’Leia’s death were not pleasant by any means. Sovik had gone into these periods of time where he would become so aggressive-- when he and T’Leia would depart from the group for days.

And though he wanted to believe his best friend more than anything in the entire world, he still had faith in Rebecca. When she told him that Sovik was fine and that T’Leia had died by natural causes, Joseph had only to believe her. She was the woman he fell in love with, and though she appeared today as if she was the least bit interested, Joseph had to stand by her and trust her… he hadn’t ever been given a reason not to. Had Rebecca ever lied to him either?

Joseph buried his face into his hands. “I don’t know, Simon.”

Suddenly, Simon’s PADD began to blink, causing the man to fumble the device in his hands nervously until he his face completely paled. He pulled it unto his chest and stood up from his chair, peering down at Joseph. “I have to… there’s something I have to do… and I forgot.” Simon jumbled his words as he turned towards the door. “I’ll talk to you later Joe.”

Before Joseph could raise his head to reply to his friend, or to even ask him where he was headed, Simon was gone. He was left to himself and the rowdy group of engineers in the recreational room.

-

 

_“Jim! You are unharmed.”_

Spock had said those words earlier that morning, in complete fear. There was no way Jim would ever forget the way those eyes peered up at him, almost begging him to make the horror go away… whatever that horror was.

Vulcans didn’t typically have nightmares. In fact, Jim had asked Spock once what dreaming was like for him, and if dreaming was something that they did at all. The response was, “ _Dreaming, Captain, is a much different experience for Vulcans. Dreaming for us is a restful,almost meditative state in which thoughts and memories occur as a means of simply keeping the mind active. We are still somewhat conscious, however, these passing thoughts and memories do not serve the emotional or philosophical purpose they seem to serve humans.”_

It was an interesting thought for Jim. How could Spock dream in Vulcan when half his blood was human? How could he repress the attachment or curiosity of some of these dreams?

The real question Jim had for Spock did not lie with whether he dreamt or not, it was instead whether those _passing thoughts and memories_ had the capability to scare. Was it possible that Spock had had a nightmare that morning, or was it something else?

“I don’t trust this damn ship.” McCoy spoke gruffly, his eyes rolling as he peered over across the bridge where Scotty was trying to recalibrate one of the environmental control systems.

They both listened to the frustrated grumbling coming from their chief engineer, and McCoy’s eyes met with Jim’s. “I think the Enterprise is trying to kill us.”

Jim chuckled gently, his mind still somewhat in his bedroom, where he’d seen his best friend shaking with fear for the second time this week. If it had been anybody else, he would have let it go easily.

However this was _Spock_. He strove to be the most Vulcan individual who had ever lived, even with his mixed blood. He prided himself on being the most efficient, most emotionally detached person he could be, and yet in the last few days he witnessed Spock nearly in tears, quivering in fear, and waking up calling his name. Something was definitely wrong, and yet Jim had zero clues as to what.

The smell of coffee filled the room, reminding Jim of how badly he needed a cup at this moment. He turned his head to face the yeoman who was crossing down the steps to stand beside his chair. He gave her a pleasant smile, regardless of the immense confusion and stress he was feeling.

“Bones,” Jim finally decided to speak. “Have a cup of coffee.” He lifted one of the white cups and handed it to the doctor, eyeing him humorously before going back to the tray to find his own special cup Yeoman Rand had always prepared for him.

“Well...” McCoy smiled as though he hadn’t even mentioned the distress the ship was under, “If that’s an order!”

The captain finally took his own and nodded at the young lady, “Thank you, Yeoman.”

“It’s my pleasure, Captain.” She nearly bounced over to Chekov, her smile so genuine and pure. Jim wondered for a moment if he had ever seen his yeoman in an unpleasant state. She was always so kind, so loving, so ready to care for anybody at any time.

McCoy smacked his lips together loudly followed by a satisfied sigh, “You’re lucky to have a yeoman like that.”

Even though Jim _heard_ McCoy, he didn’t necessarily hear him. What had been spoken was completely lost to him as he stared down into his coffee before taking a large mouthful. When the hot beverage slid down his throat, warming his insides pleasantly, he brought the cup down onto the arm of his chair, fingers tightening over the edges.

“You’re stressing yourself.” McCoy mentioned, watching his friend in obvious distress. “I knew I was right when I told you you should probably take the day off.”

“I can’t,” Jim answered quietly, his heart beating sadly in his chest.

“Why? Because you’re the captain?” McCoy answered sarcastically. “That’s all the more reason for you to take the day off. Did you forget that you recently acquired a concussion, most likely caused from an overbearing amount of stress and a lack of sleep?”

Jim quickly looked up toward the doctor, his thoughts slowly departing from the scene that morning, and returning to the bridge. It was true. He was to have his full attention on the task at hand. He couldn’t let over four hundred lives- including valuable guests to the federation- suffer the consequence of his own distraction. “Jim knew very well that one small missed detail could have disastrous consequences, and he was not prepared to allow a foolish mistake to bring harm to his crew, their passengers, or their ship.

Gently, Jim brought his fingers to his eyes, massaging them. McCoy was likely right. It would no doubt be beneficial for him to take a couple hours off to try and recalibrate--both himself and the necessary balance he and Spock had seemed to have lost over the last several days. He had recently acquired a concussion, and though he had bad migraines from it now and then, he was still in fairly good condition.

Yet, it was difficult to pry Jim away from his command, or drag him off the bridge. Like Spock found comfort in the scent and ambiance of his Vulcan meditation candles, Jim felt a similar acceptance in the environment of his bridge. His command. His Enterprise.

He stood from his chair, holding his coffee and peering at the large viewscreen displaying the vastness of the universe surrounding them. So empty, so full of mystery and wonder... A galaxy he was so excited to experience with his beloved Spock, and yet he was not there to see it with him. He was somewhere on the ship, forced to play with Renneral alongside a damn Vulcan.

Luckily, it wasn’t Sovik who had requested Spock’s presence this time. Had it been Sovik, perhaps Jim would find it his place to wander down to the labs and take a look at their experiments. But, it was thankfully not the case. If he had entered those labs without Sovik’s permission, he could only imagine the report that would be sent to Admiral Reid. No, Jim was thankful it was Rebecca.

Rebecca was trustworthy, pleasant, and good-natured. Jim had no ill feelings about Spock being in her presence. In fact, he had enjoyed the conversations they shared and he knew that Spock had as well. Over one of their games of chess, he remembered discussing the matter. “ _She is a very intelligent, honourable individual. She reminds me of you, Jim, in many ways.”_

A feeling of excitement raced through his body, reminding Jim of just how insane Spock making him. He hadn’t experienced this sensation for years, not since Carol. The sensations of nervousness, perspiration, heart racing, the whole nine yards… Spock made him feel these things so effortlessly.

With Spock’s handsome face in his mind, and the feelings of joy and ecstasy in his heart, Jim gazed guiltily into the array of stars and planets through the screen--guilty for not being able to share it with his better half.

And that’s when it hit him.

A wave of absolute panic screamed from the corner of his mind, begging and pleading for something. The power of this voice caused Jim to suddenly drop the cup in his hands, letting it crash to the floor with a mighty splash. Immediately, Jim brought his hands up to his face, trying to conceal his expression of sheer confusion and pain. Pain for the tone the voice was conveying. Pain for whatever this sensation was experiencing.

Jim felt himself panicking, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now, and yet a completely unknown one. He allowed himself to be taken by McCoy, and then shoved back into his chair. He could not bring himself to look at the doctor; he simply tried with all his might to discern what exactly this _feeling_ was.

And just as easily as it had entered, it was gone. The grief and agony were completely absent from his mind, and though he was pleased that it had vanished as to free him of an inexplicable onset of pain, he was also disturbed. He had never experienced anything like this before, and so Jim had only to tell himself that it was some sort of pain emanating from the concussion he had received earlier.

The bridge was silent, all eyes turned hesitantly towards him, and yet he did not care. He simply sat in his chair breathing heavily, his eyes staring at the coffee stains scattered across the floor as well as the cuff of his pants.

No one decided to speak until McCoy’s tricorder had stopped flashing by Jim’s head, finally being tucked into one of his pockets before giving the rest of the crew a stern look. Everyone casually returned their attention to their tasks, their ears still wide open for the conversation that was about to take place.

“What the hell was that, Jim?” McCoy asked with genuine concern. He forced Jim gently into a more upright position.

After taking in a few more deep breaths Jim swallowed, his eyes searching the screen in front of them, wondering the same question McCoy had just asked him. “I don’t know,” he finally settled to admit.

“Well try to explain it,Jim.” McCoy tried to wrap his arm underneath Jim’s arm, lifting him and attempting to turn him towards the steps leading up to the lift. “What did it feel like?”

Slowly, Jim shook his head, trying to explain the event to himself. It was a difficult thing to put in to words. It felt as if something inside him was screaming, and fighting against his consciousness. It was a pain that went far beyond the physical.

“I can’t explain it.” Jim insisted, and his brows lowered defensively. He was beginning to get increasingly agitated for not being able to explain himself, as well not being able to understand what had happened to himself.

He felt as though, if it were some form of communication between him and another being, he would want to cradle that consciousness and aid it, help it, get to the bottom of that pain and tend to it. But how? Where? It was easy enough to place his hand over his head and try and soothe it, however Jim couldn’t locate where the distress was exactly or where exactly he hurt… all he knew was he hurt.

Locating the pain was one thing, knowing how to treat it would be an entirely different thing. Though he trusted his CMO with his very life, he was unsure whether or not McCoy had the necessary skill to mend these wounds. It was quite simple. McCoy would not be able to wave a simple regenerator and heal this like he could a scar.

It was not so simple to close his eyes and focus within his mind to pinpoint the trauma. When he watched Spock do these things, he had never imagined it to be so difficult; he had always made it seem so effortless. Spock would simply close his eyes, furrow his brows, and as he often said, _center_ himself.

Jim could not simply _center_ himself. He didn’t know how to control the mind or anything associated with it. He wanted to reach inside, find the source of the pain, and apply aid to it like a bruise or a cut. As he was now, he couldn’t reach it-- he couldn’t even touch it. There was nothing he could do to stop it from hurting.

It would have been simple to leave it as it was, and to hand himself to the doctor for care. Yet, there was a strange instinct to do the impossible… to reach in, find the source of the pain, and touch it. Cradle it. Care for it.

“You can’t explain it?” McCoy repeated, trying to wordlessly coax him into taking the first step towards the lift, but Jim would not raise his leg.

“No,” Jim affirmed, finally realizing what McCoy wanted and he took the step. “But I’m fine.” Jim turned his head to McCoy, “Really.”

“That’s a laugh,” McCoy snarled.

As soon as he got Jim to the top of the stairs, McCoy paused for a moment, turning to Uhura at her station, “Lieutenant, contact the labs and have them send Spock up here.”

“I’m fine Bones,” Jim mumbled, removing his arm from the doctor’s hold. “Really.”

“You call that display fine?” McCoy snapped back at him with concern. “That’s exactly why I’m calling Spock up here.”

Jim’s expression quickly changed from one of concern to a stern glare. He opened his mouth, ready to fire back at the doctor when there was suddenly a loud, thunderous bang across the exterior of the ship, tossing the entire crew to the right. Jim and McCoy found themselves flat on their stomach, hands firmly pressed into the cold floor.

“Shields, Sulu!” shouted Jim, as he scrambled to his feet and regained his balance. His eyes snapped to the forward viewscreen as his crew began to quickly reclaim their positions. “Go to red alert!”

As Jim began making a move for his chair, another loud crashing sound boomed from the opposite side, and sent them wavering to the left--causing Jim to take his command right there on the floor. “ _Shields_ , Sulu!”

“Aye, Sir!” Sulu exclaimed, reaching frantically for the controls from the floor, and lifting himself into place. “Shields up!” The ship-wide alert system fired off immediately.

“Uhura, contact Spock, put it on ship wide communications if necessary.” Jim called back to her, bracing himself on the railings as he raced to the chair. “Chekov, take Spock’s scanner until he returns. I need a damage report immediately.”

“What they hell is going on?!” McCoy barked, still trying to bring himself from his kneeling position to a standing one.

 _“Commander Spock, report to the bridge please, Commander Spock to the bridge.”_ Uhura spoke behind Jim’s back, repeating the command through ship wide communications as well as through the private ones in the labs.

“Answers, Mister Chekov,” Jim insisted. “Have we been attacked or not?”

“Two hits sustained, Captain,” Chekov reported from the science station. “One port, one starboard. No hull breach confirmed, damage control teams arriving.”

“Captain, damage report! Subspace communications are down,” Uhura immediately spoke after Chekov’s announcement.

“Navigational control is out, Captain!” reported Sulu, his fingers rising in the air from his panel. “We’re stuck!”

Like clockwork, Jim activated ship wide communications from his panel. “This is the captain. Red alert, all personnel to battle stations. I repeat this is a red alert, man battlestations.” When his finger left the switch, Jim’s eyes snapped to the science station. “Where’s that view of our attacker, Ensign?”

“Scanning, Sir, Scan--!”

Chekov braced the scanner as the entire crew jolted to the side once again. He shot a look over his shoulder to the center seat, shaking his head in puzzlement, and then redirected his attention to the viewscreen.

“I said give me a view of our attacker, Ensign!” Jim demanded again, pounding his fist into the armrest with determination.

“That _is_ a view of the attacker, Sir.” Chekov replied, his eyes scanning over the screen in fascination, “According to the trajectile of the phasers.”

Jim returned his attention to the front screen in complete awe. There, in front of him, was absolutely nothing. He could only see the passing of space just as he did moments before the attack began. He lowered his brows angrily, trying to figure out every other option besides the only possible culprits.

Romulans and Klingons.

It had to be one or the other, and certainly not both. They were both the owners of the incredible cloaking device, one that allowed the entirety of the ship to go undetected until it fired, leaving it visible for only moments before it transformed back into complete invisibility.

“Life form readings detectable straight ahead, Captain,” Chekov informed, lifting his head from Spock’s scanner again, “Confirmed, that is where the firing came from.”

Jim’s eyes moved, but his head remained still, as he pondered this completely random attack set on by old enemies who were now in violation of Federation Space.

McCoy kept his eyes on the captain wearily, worry creeping as he gripped the chair tightly. The captain was in no condition to command, seeing as he had just been on his way to sickbay. Not only was it a danger to his friend, but as well if Jim fell ill again the entire ship would pay the consequence. Without Jim or Commander Spock, the ship would be scrambling. McCoy pursed his lips, _‘Where are you Spock?’_ He thought urgently to himself.

“Open communications, Lieutenant. Mister Sulu, divert more energy to the shields,” Jim commanded.

Uhura tapped her fingers across the controls, opening hailing frequencies to the hidden vessel in front of them. “There’s no response, Sir,” she reported, her large eyes looking back to his seriously.

Jim picked himself up from his chair, approaching the screen sternly, his mind gently throbbing from the previous distress it had been mysteriously put under. He focussed his thoughts on the mystery that laid before him instead.

“Keep trying, Lieutenant.” Jim hated to let the Enterprise simply sit and _wait_ for an attack like she was at the moment, but from what he knew of cloaking technology, as well as Klingon and Romulan pride, they would in the end coax themselves into revealing their ship in order to have one more shot at them.

He silently waited.

“Sir!” Jim heard Scotty’s accented tone coming from behind him on his left. As Jim slightly turned his head to acknowledge his voice, he kept his eyes firm on the empty space before them, wondering momentarily if their attacker had drifted to a new position or not.

“For a moment I picked up a strong ping from our ship.” Scotty explained, catching the attention of a few officers as well as the captain’s. Their eyes met for a moment.

“A _ping_?” Jim questioned out loud, repeating it as though saying it himself would some how clarify things.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Scotty began, his hand still resting on the computer he was just reading off of moments ago. “I located a frequency disturbance from deck twenty. It read like a very faint communications signal.”

Jim peered over to Uhura who had apparently already worked on locating the so called _ping._ Her eyes searching the air around her as she placed his fingers against the ear piece.

“I’m picking something up, Captain,” she finally announced, her eyes lifting to Jim’s before darting away again as she continued listening. “It’s extremely garbled though.”

“Put it on audio,” Jim commanded, taking a seat in his chair again, mentally noting that Spock still hadn’t arrived at his station.

What was once only audible on Uhura’s small hearing device, was now playing throughout the bridge. As Jim gripped the edge of his chair, he listened to fuzzy, muffled male voice speaking lowly in a possible attempt to conceal himself. Jim squinted as he tried to decipher the tone, trying uselessly to discern whether it was one of his crew members or not.

 _“.... eral, if… on…. twe…. deck… if… tain. Available for you….”_ Was all Jim was able to decipher.

“It appears to be emanating from a personal device, Sir. Some sort of communicator, or PADD application.” Uhura explained, her eyes mirroring Jim’s as she tried to decode and organize the soundwaves.

“Shut it off. Have security close off deck twenty,” Jim commanded, he pressed his finger into the comm unit on his chair, his eyes returning intently to the blank screen before him; there was a very real threat that their ship wide communications could be knocked out next. If the strangers that existed somewhere in the space around them were _logical_ , that would be their next move.

With that in mind, Jim made another attempt at contacting his first officer.“Commander Spock, report to the bridge immediately.”

“Captain,” Chekov reported from Spock’s infamous corner, causing Jim to almost shrivel in discomfort. Seeing and hearing Chekov where Spock was supposed to be was an eerie reminder that his dear friend was missing. He was absent amongst the chaos of the ship. Where was Spock? Why wasn’t he reporting or at least contacting the bridge?

“We are being scanned,” Chekov reported and Jim lowered his brows with concern.

It was not a question of why they were being scanned, but rather by who. It was clear what these strangers wanted from him, and what they desired so badly. It was no secret of the Enterprise’s mission.

Like gold being transported across the galaxy, the Enterprise was to get this experimental material home safely. A handful of the precious substance could make any person a very powerful one. Just a small amount could power ships or weapons of destruction--or breathe life into a completely hopeless society.

It and its research team were targets and though Jim hated the thought of keeping a man like Sovik well and protected on his ship, he could not allow for anything to happen to him, or his crew. He thought about how happy Rebecca and Joseph had been during dinner--how they had planned a life together following this project. And though Jim didn’t particularly enjoy the company of the RU-598 crew, he could not deny them of that future.

“Captain!” Uhura’s exclamation interrupted Jim’s contemplation, “I’ve received contact from the alien vessel.” She almost sighed with relief.

“Put it on the view screen,” Jim’s eyes darted to the screen strictly, hoping in the back of his mind that Spock would walk through the doors behind him, and grip his chair as he often did.

Anticipation of discovery took over Jim, as he curiously watched the image of their attacker make its way onto the screen, his eyes becoming stern and aggressive when the dark-featured face of his foe cleared its way.

 _‘Romulans.’_ Jim pointed out to himself, checking out his opponent angrily.

“Captain Kirk.” The Romulan on the screen spoke with little to no expression. His eyes cold and hard over top of Jim. For a moment his words surprised him. Thoguh he was somewhat known to the members of the federation as the captain of the finest ship in the fleet, Jim wasn’t expecting such recognition from a Romulan.“You are complicating things with that weak shield of yours.”

“Who are you and what are you looking for?” Jim asked, trying purposely to appear completely void of any sort of emotion. He didn’t want to appear as afraid, or angered. It was something he had learned from Spock, and had been grateful for it in times as these.

“I am Kiror.” The Romulan answered, nearing the screen, his expression becoming dangerous. “Do you wish to speak in terms of your surrender?”

“I won’t even consider surrendering when I don’t know what I’m surrendering for.” Jim replied calmly, standing up from his position to possibly intimidate his opponent.

That was one thing he and Spock were very much different in. While Spock relied on his cunning knowledge and striking logic to overcome his opponents in chess, Jim had his presence to influence the outcome. The way he carried himself throughout the game often caused Spock to question moves for long periods of time. Jim had already known Spock to figure out his strategy ten steps ahead of himself and so he liked to throw that plan to the dogs as often as possible by changing up his posture, his expression, and sometimes his tone of voice, even just to see the way Spock would crinkle his brow in confusion. Jim hoped that the Romulans would be the same.

“The Renneral, Captain. I believe you know well and good where it is, why I wish to acquire it, and why you should surrender it as well as your lives.”

“Renneral?” Jim questioned out loud almost immediately following the Romulan’s demands.

Kiror did not seem much into this playful back and forth. His lips slightly twitched at the aspect of the Captain playing dumb, which allowed Jim to realize that there was no way that this particular ship didn’t know about their cargo, and all its incredible capabilities.

“Playing dense will not do you well, Captain. An unwise decision on your part.” The destructive male spoke calmly through the screen, his eyes heavy on Jim. “Surrender the Renneral, and we will discuss the terms of your ship’s survival.”

Jim kept his heroic stance before the large screen. “You’ve violated the peace treaty by threatening us, Kiror. Do you really want war to break out for this measly Renneral project?” Jim asked, intentionally conveying disbelief while trying casually to down talk the project as though it were nothing special.

Kiror moved gently on the screen, approaching a control panel close to his command chair. As he moved Jim noticed the heavy chain mail like overcoat he wore over a crisp black top. It was the traditional attire of most Romulan commanders from what little the Federation knew of them, and yet, Kiror wore it with much more vigor than he remembered ever seeing from the two encounters Jim had experienced with the race.

“You do not know the power I have over your ship right now, Captain. If you were smart you would not be behaving so irrationally,” Kiror informed him almost through his teeth. It was clear at this moment that he was in no mood for Jim’s doubletalk. He wanted what he came for and he wanted it now.

“Ah, yes. _You’re_ the one responsible for all the ship’s technical failures these past few days,” Jim said, keeping his features calm as he pieced together the plans of what was to mean their demise. “HAve you been silently shadowing us, just waiting to jump while we were off course and vulnerable as well?”

The smile had finally breached, and Jim’s nose slightly curled at the yellowing teeth of his opponent. He felt as though he could almost smell the musky scent of their ship from where he was standing, but as Spock once said, ‘ _That is illogical. Odours cannot travel through space.’_

“I will not inform you what you already know. Lower your shields, or we will be forced to break them down for you,” Kiror demanded, his tone annoyingly calm and polite for his forceful and aggressive attitude.

Jim tilted his head to the right slightly, his eyes narrowing in on Kiror. “So, his assumption had been correct.” The thought of being silently pursued by an enemy vessel while they were having some sort of effect on the quality of his ship caused for Jim to grit his teeth. There was something so personal about such an act of violation that he physically clenched his jaw with anger.

“Lower your shields, Captain. I have very little patience and you are no exception. Your weak crew and ship are no match for the capabilities of mine. Lower them or I will break them.” Kiror demanded cruelly, his fist slamming onto the arm of his chair forcefully.

 _“Captain Kirk, the Renneral is of great importance to the Federation.”_ Jim recalled Reid saying in an earlier transmission, prior to all the chaos that had ensued after boarding the RU-598 group. _“The Enterprise is a remarkable ship. She isn’t just transporting these fine people and their outstanding work. The Enterprise will be on a dangerous mission. The Renneral can mean a lot of business and a lot of power for anyone who obtains it. You can show no mercy to these type of people. The Renneral must make it to its destination.”_

Beyond Reid’s impeccable ability to over exaggerate and dramatise situations, he was absolutely right in saying that the Enterprise was on no small mission. The RU-598 project was dangerous in the wrong hands, and it was the reason why Reid had chosen the top starship to carry it.

_‘Show no mercy.’_

It was difficult to know how to show no mercy when there was absolutely no way for Jim to receive the upper hand here. He needed to be the one on top, controlling the situation as he always did; however, there was something different from the times Jim was the one in charge and now--and that was Spock’s presence.

Yes, Spock was intelligent, cunning, and above all, completely cut off from irrationality, but he was also a strange source of comfort.

Suddenly he heard Pike’s voice in his head again on the day he had handed the beautiful ship he now loved, to him… the day Pike had offered his most vital advice to him.

_“Confide in Mr. Spock..”_

Pike was somewhat of an inspiration to Jim, and to know that even he was nothing without his number one brought a lighthearted pang to his heart. Spock was indeed his better half in more ways than one which made things all the more difficult in situations like this.

Jim felt frustrated. Where was Spock? He had been paged so many times and yet he was still nowhere to be found. He couldn’t imagine what could hold Spock back from reporting to the bridge. Nothing could stop a determined Spock, and right now either Spock was incapable of coming to the bridge, or he was unwilling to… and for some reason Jim did not believe Spock was unwilling.

Suddenly, Jim calmed himself,knowing that if he thought too much into Spock’s distance from him, he would become distracted from what was important. He then began thinking of Pike’s words again with more thought, and finally Jim was able to confide with Spock in some form.

 _“You were distracted,”_ he remembered Spock saying over a game of chess a few months prior.

 _“I wasn’t,”_ Jim had replied, recalling the way Spock’s silhouette was highlighted with the crimson light of the nearby stars peering through the window beside them. The lights were incredibly dim in their room, creating an atmosphere of comfort and serenity that only Spock’s presence could provide.  

Spock was beautiful. And though that had always been a term Jim secluded for the fine women he had come across in his life, he still found the word completely fitting. His angular features sharply cutting through the darkness with the assistance of the starlight, and the way Spock’s hair somehow shimmered blue in the light, Jim truly believed that Spock was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on. He didn’t only believe it… he knew it at this point.

 _“Then you snapped under pressure,”_ Spock had continued to insist that day. His dark eyes lifted from the board before them and gazed across at Jim’s own, giving Jim a shiver to this day. “ _You felt threatened and therefore did not play to the best of your ability.”_

 _“You think so?”_ Jim had joked back at Spock playfully.

“ _I believe so. Humans often feel as though acquiring success, even in extremely trivial situations such as this, will provide them with a false sense of pride. You saw my Bishop approaching your own, and thus placing your King in check. You felt this unnecessary need to act without thought and therefore moved your King onto QL4, and thus placing it in check once again, simply handing the game to me.”_ Spock’s brow had simply lifted, showing Jim that he had indeed been right.

“ _There was no move that would have worked,”_ Jim had answered sternly as he had reviewed the board again for any possible moves he missed.

 _“Perhaps. However, there are always other possibilities, Jim. As you have told me your mother often says, ‘surrender gracefully.’_ ” Spock’s humorous expression was one he would never forget. The image was still so clear in Jim’s mind, and though at the time he simply laughed the joke off with Spock, he now felt as though it was the best advice he had ever received from him.

His mother had said _surrender gracefully_ to him on many accounts. They usually involved situations where Jim was over heated about minor mishaps, and she would come beside him, give him a small smirk and continue with her mantra.

It had warmed his heart to hear those words coming from Spock, and so when Jim lifted his chin to Kiror, he gave him an expressionless look, and then simply bowed his head. “Give us five minutes to prepare the RU-598 crew and to drop our shields.”

“One minute, Kirk,” Kiror replied, his sharp, angular brows lowering defensively. “You will not be gifted with so much time.”

“Three minutes, Kiror. You can’t rush these people. I’m about to beam over a project they worked their entire lives on without their consent,” Jim explained.

Without a sound Kiror raised and dropped his shoulder indicating an irritated sigh. His eyes barreled to Jim. “You have two minutes Kirk before your next attack which will no doubt be your undoing.”

The screen went blank, telling Jim that the countdown had then started.Remaining completely calm, Jim turned his head to Scotty who was staring anxiously at the blank screen. “I need all power to the phasers, Scotty, on my mark.” His head snapped to Chekov’s direction. “What is their current position, Ensign?”

“I will calculate it now, Sir.” Chekov hadn’t even finished his sentence before he was plastered to the scanner, computing the possible location. There was no need for Jim to inform him of the sheer importance that came from his estimate. It was already quite clear that whatever Chekov’s next words were was going to determine the outcome of the entire plan.

“Position phasers according to Chekov, Mister Sulu.” Jim stood from his chair, silently awaiting the computation from Chekov which would have taken half the time if it had been Spock standing there.

“Captain,” Uhura spoke. “Deck twenty is completely closed off. All personnel are being held by security.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.Tell them to stand by.”

After a moment, Chekov straightened himself out looking across the bridge at Jim. “They are located at zero point seven six five one degrees, Sir.”

Just then, the image of Kiror returned to the screen, revealing that he was now seated in his large black and silver chair. His eyes were unmoving from Jim, now standing with his hands behind his back.

“I have grown impatient,” Kiror snarled, wrinkling his nose angrily.

“We were promised fifty more seconds, Commander,” Jim countered with mock concern. “We are just now getting a fix on the project to beam over to you. Requesting you disclose receiving area’s coordinates.”

“I do not trust you, Captain,” Kiror growled, “You will drop the shields, and whatever is not able to transport, we will send our men to retrieve.”

Jim’s eyes dropped to Sulu’s station.

_Surrender gracefully._

“Alright, Kiror, since you're not interested in Federation protocols for safe transport of cargo, we'll do things your way.” Jim watched Sulu’s hand steadily move towards the phaser fire. “Preparing to drop shields and deliver your request on my order."

Kiror’s lips curled, giving the impression that he was obviously quite pleased with Jim’s apparent compliance. He crossed his arms proudly over his chest.

“Now, Sulu.”

All power quickly diverted by Scotty to the phaser banks instantly dropped the shields as the Romulans wished. They appeared vulnerable for a short moment, which made the moment all the more satisfactory.

Two large streams of light flashed out in the predicted direction of the Romulan ship. The phaser beams hit a solid object, exposing outer hull of the enemy ship for a moment before the cloak flickered several times.

“Again!” Jim commanded, watching another array of lights direct themselves towards the once concealed enemy ship. With every attack, the ship wobbled in and out of view.

With all power diverted to the phasers, they were able to do significantly more damage. Jim watched as the cloaking device blipped out, exposing the ship and its vulnerability to all those around. As the enemy ship listed Jim felt somewhat surprised by the Romulan’s initial audacity to attack them when they, in fact, were so weak. It seemed to be an immature move to come across the Enterprise like it did and demand from her when they were so critically crippled by several phaser blasts. Surely, the element of surprise was on the Enterprise’s side but Jim had expected more of a fight than this.

“Cease firing. Lieutenant, open communications.”

“Aye aye, Sir!” Uhura replied, bringing the image of Kiror back to the screen again.

Smoke, fire and chaos were raining within the medium sized ship. Jim felt very little remorse; watching the Romulans who had breached the peace treaty in a state of distress was very pleasing.

“Shall we discuss your surrender? I can have you boarded and kept in confinement until we reach the nearest Starbase,” Jim offered harshly.

The screen once again cut out, leaving it blank and dangerously quiet. It was apparently not over, reminding Jim of the Romulan pride.

“Mister Sulu, take us out of here! Maximum warp to achieve a safe distance!” Jim demanded, feeling the sneaking sensation that the Romulans were about to have their revenge.

And he was right.

Just as they were warping out of the dangerous situation, they could feel the jolting experience of the Romulan’s ship self destructing. It was likely not their plan to have it go out on its own; they must have wished for the Enterprise to stay close by and thus destroy her as well as the project they were incapable of acquiring. Jim was sure of it. He knew few Romulans in his time in Starfleet, but his limited exposure to them allowed him to know this.

As horrific as an explosion of that magnitude was, Jim couldn’t keep his eyes off it. It was a great burst of white light, slowly developing into a sultry tone of red and orange. It might have been a truly magnificent sight, if it hadn’t come at the expense of lives… even if those lives happened to be enemies who wouldn’t have given the ones belonging to the Enterprise crew a second thought.

The fiery red had dispersed into tiny shards, somehow brighter than the stars that surrounded them. Finally, in its wake, debris of the ship that had made contact merely seconds ago was completely broken and non existent.

“Mister Scott, we need the subspace transmitter and navigation control back online. What’s the estimated time you can have that done by?” Jim asked feeling himself slowly begin to relax again.

“The damages don’t appear to be too serious, Sir. I’ll have it done in eleven hours.” Scotty replied, glancing at the screen before him momentarily.

“Once our subspace communications have been repaired, contact Admiral Reid, Lieutenant. Inform him of what has happened.” Jim finally spoke, respectfully, his voice was low and gentle. He then turned back towards the lift. McCoy, who Jim hadn’t even remembered remaining on the bridge, gave him a sturdy look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” McCoy asked, following him up to the lift.

“To deck twenty,” Jim answered shortly. If Jim had the opportunity to drop his authority on the ship for a moment and walk away as though he didn’t have a single responsibility in this fight, he would be halfway to the labs, interrogating Rebecca on why his first officer wasn’t on the bridge when he was supposed to.

Jim was a captain and Spock his first officer. He had a duty to this ship and the crew  to investigate this crime--even if he was unsure what condition his best friend was in or even where he was.

McCoy hopped into the lift with him just as the doors were beginning to slide shut. When he was finally settled inside, he gave Jim a concerned expression. “My orders for sickbay weren’’t a joke, Jim,” McCoy muttered, holding the wall of the lift cautiously. “Or did you bump your head so hard you forgot?”

Quickly, Jim looked over at the doctor with mock annoyance. He then directed his attention to the doorway again. “I’ll go when I’m done with this and done looking for Spock,” Jim informed him, rubbing one of his hands over his eyes to relieve the tension building in his head.

McCoy simply stared at his captain in a way that displayed his annoyance with him, as well as his concern. He hadn’t much to say to him after Jim had proven both his health and his abilities on the bridge moments ago.

“I feel fine,” Jim reassured, peering up towards the ceiling on the lift as he spoke.

McCoy pouted with frustration, eyeing the captain angrily. “I don’t want you having another episode like the one you had. You could have some neural damage I overlooked or something from your concussion.”

McCoy was speaking, but it was almost as though Jim couldn’t hear him. By the way the doctor’s lips were moving, he knew what he was saying about how Jim could have a litany of new injuries and what not. At the moment, Jim couldn’t give it any thought. He could only think about the possible distress his beloved Spock was under. He knew he shouldn’t think that way, considering Spock was a grown man and capable of defending himself, as well, he was in Rebecca’s company and therefore should have been fine. However, there was something concerning about Spock’s behaviour the past day… something off about him that he was unable to place his finger on. He couldn’t help but think and worry over Spock at this time.

“Did you hear me?” McCoy asked, clearly irritated by the way Jim had been ignoring him unintentionally.

Jim and McCoy had been friends a long time, but it wasn’t uncommon for Jim to feel this frustration over the doctor’s persistence… the constant change in his diet, the constant check ups and rushes to sickbay over seemingly minor things. He believed McCoy had a sick fascination with bossing him around.

Spock’s voice returned to his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He listened to his mother’s matra pleasantly.

 _‘Surrender gracefully, Surrender gracefully.’_ Jim almost whispered it to himself with a brief laugh and a sigh.

“Alright, Bones, I’ll go to sickbay as soon as possible,” Jim promised, watching McCoy physically stop the lift as he got to the floor he desired. Once McCoy had cautiously stepped out into the corridor, Jim felt somewhat relieved to have a moment alone with his thoughts. He felt himself slump into the wall, eyes closing.

After a moment of Jim listening to his own breathing, as well as the faint hum of the lift as it moved, Jim felt a strange, familiar tug on his mind. His entire focus shifted to the strange sensation.

That’s what when the pain suddenly returned.

Jim slumped against the wall, gripping his head as if it were the closest thing he could get to coddling the pain, and soothing it away. He felt himself lower against the wall, sinking until he was sitting on the floor.

There was something different about the pain that now assaulted him. Compared to the last episode, this one was much more subtle, appearing and disappearing in waves. It was almost as though it were trying to move on, but kept crashing back against him painfully… unable to leave.

It was enraging, not so much that it existed and was now causing him physical distress, but that it _felt_ like distress. He had the most incredible need to prod his head, find the area of his mind that was being utilized by the force, and get to the bottom of this. The pain was much too strange, much too ghost-like to be one caused by the concussion. This had to be something else.

The discomfort slowly eased off of him. The screaming he felt rattling his mind slowly faded into silence causing Jim’s consciousness to reach out for it again, for some reason almost begging to touch paths with that intruding sensation once again.

It was strange how that had happened a second time. Jim sat on the floor completely confused and in shock. This had happened again, so soon after the other attack, and once again he felt completely lonely and empty without the painful pang within him, almost as if he _wanted_ to experience it. Strangely, as he sat there, he did want to feel it.

The silence was difficult to sit through. Every time Jim encountered the _thing_ , he felt himself wilting with sadness and guilt. There was nothing to spur these emotions, but the need to pull himself away from the others and sob was always so strong following it.

He closed his eyes, hoping and wishing that somehow he could contact the part of his mind that the pain had touched, but he was hopeless within his own head. He couldn’t manipulate his thoughts like a Vulcan could.

Finally, the lift doors opened, allowing Jim to hear the chaos that ensued beyond them. Clearly deck twenty was going to be no place like the quiet, calm, meditative location he desired at this time.

The last thing he wanted to do was to carry out his search for the mystery ping… not when he felt his mind silently calling to Spock, wondering if he was alright. It was odd how after experiencing the pain again, his concern for Spock only grew more frantic, when his attention should have been entirely devoted to what had transpired on the ship.

Perhaps a visit to sickbay would not be such a bad idea after all, he thought to himself as he painfully peeled himself off the floor.

-

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Spock awoke to the sound of what seemed to be sirens, the volume of it ringing his ears painfully causing him to turn his head to try and block the noise. As he did, he felt hot, rough skin brush against his cheek. He drooped his head to the other side to get a glimpse at who or what he was pressed so tightly against at the moment. He began to feel the rocking of his body, followed by a searing amount of pain shooting up his spine.

He remembered now.

Sovik groaned, clasping his hand behind Spock’s head desperately, pulling the hair as he did so, and bringing Spock’s face closer to his body. It was clear to Spock now that he was still being attacked by Sovik, only now they had relocated to the side of the room and were seated in one of the cold metal chairs that resided there. Spock’s legs were at either side of Sovik’s body, his head in the crook of the heated Vulcan’s neck, and limply allowing him to have his way with the rest of him.

“Sovik,” Spock huffed out, hoping that Sovik would not last much longer. It was no surprise to him that he was still in the act, seeing as Vulcans who were going through their cycle of heat could go on for hours upon hours.

“Spock,” Sovik moaned into the pointed ear near his mouth. He then took the pointed tip in between his lips, nibbling at it as aggressively with his thrusts, both hurting an equal amount.

“You… are… still…” Spock began to mumble weakly, trying to pull his head back, allowing it to slump back ungracefully. In this new position Sovik had no choice but to lose his oral contact with Spock’s ear, and so instead he had full access to the soft skin lining the magnificent halfling’s neck. He admired the dusting grey colour of the Renneral that covered great portions of his body, and he could not hold himself back from instantly scraping his teeth against Spock’s throat which he had always been incredibly fond of.

“You make things… very difficult … when you become.... unresponsive…  like you did.” He did not speak affectionately to Spock, but rather in a tone that informed Spock of what an inconvenience he was to him. “It took… more time and effort… to get you how I needed you.”

Spock’s eyes closed again, shivering from the chilly temperature of the room. It was strange how painfully hot Sovik’s body was, and how he still managed to feel exposed and frigid.

Slowly, he drew himself back in, feeling Sovik’s arms wrap around his disoriented body once again. Everything was a spinning mess. He could not focus enough to put words together, to beg Sovik to stop, or to ask Sovik why he had not found his release, or inquire why he had not gotten over his Pon Farr like he should have. The drive should have been weakening, not strengthening. However, looking at how long Sovik had been going for, as well the way he felt his mind screaming against his own, he could tell that the Vulcan was becoming more and more desperate for him and this interaction. Sovik was growing needier and needier with every encounter.

Spock’s lips were close to Sovik’s ear, and he took a brief moment to see the way it pointed so similarly to his own. He felt disgusted by every detail of the man’s body and flesh. It was piercing hot; even when it was completely apart from him, he felt as if he could still feel it burning his own skin.

The burning was felt through his entire body, especially the point where the two of them were connected. He winced in pain at the way the walls of his channel burned against Sovik’s flesh, the Renneral scraping between them.

“I want you to move on me,” Sovik grumbled, gripping Spock’s hips painfully and grinding him against his body. “Like this, I want you to do this.”

A string of incoherent mumbles escaped Spock as he tried to beg Sovik to stop and let him be. He didn’t want to move, but what was even more serious was that he felt _incapable_ of moving in such a way. He felt as though if he attempted it, he would crumble.

“Surrender to me, Spock, I need you. I am so close to my release. _Please,_ Spock. You owe this to me after what you have done to our bond,” Sovik nearly begged, stirring a hint of concern within him which was quickly replaced by fear.

Spock dropped his head onto Sovik’s shoulder, feeling guilty for making contact with Sovik’s skin when he did not wish to. Yet, he was so exhausted, so helpless that he had nowhere else to lay his head but there.

Tears slowly ran down his face without a sound, staining Sovik’s robe. The sound of skin slapping against skin was heard. Spock could hear the way Sovik’s member slipped against his own body; it was clear that Sovik had already released his seed multiple times in small amounts. He felt it on his face, he felt it on his neck, he felt it deep inside him.

After a moment of listening to the loud sounds of their bodies moving together, Spock finally came to the realization of what the loud sirens were. The red alert. He was currently missing the red alert.

“Sovik, release me!” Spock found a hint of strength deep within him. An image of Jim’s confused--perhaps even _disappointed_ \-- expression at his absence pained him. So did the idea that he had let down his captain, his crew, and his ship. While he was meant to be assisting the Enterprise in escaping danger, he was being groped and penetrated by the guest he was meant to protect. He was filthy. He was disgusting. He was pathetic.

Sovik’s hands tightened, moaning as Spock unwillingly shifted on his hips, successfully giving Sovik what he had desired from him and causing Spock to grunt painfully.

“Yes, Spock, like this,” he mumbled through his satisfaction, pushing Spock further onto his swollen flesh.

Nothing Spock could do right now would be enough to drive the Vulcan away and help him escape. Spock felt an incredible amount of fear building inside him, causing his shivering to intensify.

“Remove yourself,” Spock spoke through his teeth quietly, and yet the loudest he could manage. He felt his throat was raw and sore as if Sovik had taken sick advantage of it while he was passed out.

Sovik’s mouth found one of Spock’s erect nipples, chomping down on it, and successfully bringing Spock forward against him again. Once Spock was leaning forward, Sovik captured Spock’s face with his right hand, manipulating his position so that he could obtain the meld points and initiate another bond.

When Spock finally went lax, Sovik was able to fully enter Spock’s mind, his hips still angrily pummeling him, his thick load finally filling his victim, and sending bits of it to steadily run down onto the chair beneath their bodies.

Sovik’s mental imprint always made Spock nauseous, causing him to have zero ability to raise his shields. With no mercy, Sovik sifted through his mind, resting in a place and growing, strengthening inside him. It was clear that Sovik had very little interest in what was within his mind, but was now simply trying to establish a link that was much greater than his t’hy’la bond with his captain.

The speed increased as Sovik rode out his orgasm. _“Yes, so perfect! So tight, so warm, so perfect! Spock, you are perfection! Never leave me! Never leave! Do not escape! Your captain can never give you what I can!”_

Sovik’s mind was extremely loud as it spasmed along with his member, which was steadily softening as the last bit of semen was milked out of him and transferred into Spock.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

 

_Thumpthumpthump thump…. thump…. thump…. thump._

Spock listened to Sovik’s heart beat slow in his head and slowly fade into silence as Sovik broke their link. He could feel Sovik’s chest expand and deflate, moving Spock’s body along with it.

Sovik pulled out slowly, his hand moving from it’s painful grip on Spock’s buttocks, to gently feeling himself slip out.

Since Sovik’s hands were no longer fastening them together, Spock was able to bring his hands between them, successfully pushing himself off of Sovik. When he finally made it to his feet Spock felt his disorientation cause him to stumble backwards, finally falling back onto the floor ungracefully like a drunk. His hand came up to cup his forehead tenderly, feeling Sovik’s mind against his still.

Finally, Spock opened his eyes to see Sovik standing above him, looking down at him disappointedly. From what he could understand from the way their minds were linked, he could feel the disappointment solidify the longer he stood over him..

“If you would not betray me like you did when you approached your captain in his quarters, you would not be lying on the floor like a filthy animal,” Sovik spat out, peering down at Spock with a twisted look that bordered lust and disgust.  

He heard Sovik’s boots clank against the floor, and suddenly the sound of material hitting the floor by his head. As he lifted his eyes he noticed his clothes were piled by his head, crumpled and disorderly as if Sovik merely tossed them there uncaringly. Spock felt himself blushing in shame.

“When the captain asks why you missed the red alert, you will inform him that we had difficulties with the doors in the lab. You will also inform him that I was not present in this particular portion of the lab,” Sovik demanded, the sound of his boots clanking once again. “It would also be wise for you to clean up.”

The doors had opened, and closed, and suddenly there were no longer the sounds of Sovik’s feet moving across the floor. When Spock lifted his head to reassure himself that Sovik had left, he finally brought himself into a sitting position, hating the way his body looked beneath him, covered in Renneral, semen, and saliva, and completely naked. He shivered from the impact of the chill against his skin again.

The crew. The ship. _Jim_. He had failed them. He did not see the warning signs and he had failed. Trusting Rebecca was a mistake. Returning to the labs was a mistake. Sleeping in the captain’s quarters was a mistake. Nothing from what Spock had done had made logical sense anymore. Why would he behave like this? Why would he put his sanity in danger as well as his relationship with his captain? Why was he slowly betraying himself?

Spock bowed his head in shame, feeling his heart drop from the thought of who he had become. Was he no longer a useful first officer? Would he soon become so incompetent that he could only function for the service of _assisting_ Sovik and his time of heat? Would his life ever return to what it once had been once Sovik left, or would Spock be expected to follow?

In a sick attempt to regain his professionalism, Spock began to dress himself. As he pulled his blue science tunic over his head and down his torso, he felt areas of his body protest the action.

When he was finally dressed, Spock weakly moved to the tables, looking down at the shattered glass from one of the Renneral cups. His eyes moved over the table with was in complete disarray from Spock’s body moving across and against it.

His eyes fell in shame. Slowly, he knelt down onto the floor, picking up one of the shards and holding it in his hand, clasping it angrily.

Green. Green beads of blood filled his hand, dropping and crashing to the floor silently just as tears welled up in Spock’s eyes. “I am in control. I will control my emotions.” Spock gritted his teeth.

Spock’s shoulders were rigid. He finally realized the sound of the red alert had ended, and the sound of the doors reopening caused for him to stiffen further. He couldn’t take another attack from Sovik at the moment. He would sooner drive the large piece of glass in his hand into his skull before allowing Sovik’s hands to rip apart his life once again-- to rip away his Jim from his bleeding hands.

“Leave,” Spock spoke clearly through the silence, unable to hear Sovik’s feet anymore, but it was apparent that someone had entered.

A hand touched his broad shoulder, still sore from something Sovik had done to him that he had no recollection of. The hand was much gentler than Sovik’s hand, as well much smaller. When it touched him, it didn’t hurt; in fact, it felt very similar to his mother’s hand… small, gentle, and caring.

Spock swallowed hard. It did not matter whether that hand had brought pain along with it or not. It was still touching him. It was still uninvited and though there was no physical discomfort, it still hurt.

“Leave.” Spock’s voice shook slightly, becoming more desperate the second time.

“Spock,” A female voice replied sweetly.

Spock’s eyes were hard and cold, staring at his clenched fist, his expression empty and distraught. He appeared to look like a man who had lost everything he held special to him, and when Rebecca tried to pull Spock’s shoulders into her direction, Spock fumbled away cautiously, shock present on his face.

“Spock, please don’t!” she cried, her expression horrified at the green blood that trailed from Spock’s hand. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

 _‘Rebecca is not Sovik.’_ Spock attempted to calm himself, repeating this to himself over and over again until he finally peered up at the woman. He still tried desperately to control himself, to control the chaos in his head, and to ignore the searing pain in his mind.

She wasn’t Sovik… but she was no better. She would not be able to do to him what Sovik had done, but she still had the capability to make him bruise.

“Spock,” she whispered, gazing at the completely startled Vulcan. “I want to help you.”

A painful blush brushed over Spock’s face and neck, suffocating him in the heat of embarrassment he was feeling. Sovik had taken him in the most intimate, most private way. He had done things he would have never allowed a single soul to do to him, and now this woman whom he hardly knew, and no longer trusted, knew all of it. Not only that… she had, in ways, supported it.

Spock looked down at his hand again, releasing the pressure there and dropping the glass to the floor with a tiny clank. He turned his eyes back to hers, letting the blood roll down the length of his fingers.

“No,” Spock whispered. “I do not require your assistance.” He settled for saying that, ignoring the plethora of phrases he could envision his captain using at a moment like this. There was so much the Rebecca owed him, so much that she was forever going to be in debt to him for, and yet, Spock did not wish to collect on this debt. He simply wished to find a quiet place, and silently lick his wounds.

“But, Commander Spock…” Rebecca cried, her tears soaking her cheeks, and causing them to blush from the intensity of them.

“No, Doctor Durrell. I do not require any assistance from you.” Spock stood, his own boots crushing the glass beneath them. When they moved away from them, they trailed droplets of blood along with them, staining the floor.

The room was again silent except for the sounds of Spock picking up after the rape. As he tidied the lab, he felt his mind reeling around what had just occurred. He no longer thought about the woman standing close behind him. Rebecca was forgotten, and the memory of his punishment was in full swing as he physically wiped the evidence away.

When the room was in acceptable condition, Spock turned to face the woman who was quietly sobbing as she dusted the pieces of glass into a pan, disposing of them in a near by trash dispenser. Their eyes met for a moment, and departed quickly, leaving Spock to simply walk out the door without saying another word. She had seen the evidence he washed away. She likely heard what had transpired within these walls. She knew, how could she not.

And she did.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to reach me in private with any concerns or just to chat, my email is xxpeachkinxx@gmail.com, or you can get me at tumblr [here ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/i-am-cem) ... I'm always looking for new blogs to follow! :)
> 
> Also I'd like to take this moment to rec a fic I have just finished reading which has gotten me through my week of being disgustingly sick..... I've recced it before but i need to again. If you enjoy moments in this story where Jim and Spock are together and or u enjoy fluff and all that beautiful stuff OR u enjoy the characterization... please visit plaidshirtjimkirk's story [Written in the Stars ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3558830/chapters/7837652) . It's absolutely incredible and she is my entire inspiration as a writer!!!
> 
> AS WELL here is a picture I have received from a wonderfrul wonderful artist by the name Yesiker for this story. I'm still learning how to post the actual picture into the document, but here is a link to the piece and to some of this person's other work!!!! [Here's the link ](http://therealdoodlegamer.tumblr.com/post/121633342506/inspired-by-iamcems-fanfic-unforgettable-wip) ITS A GORGEOUS piece. I'm so grateful! :) 
> 
> <3 Anyways chapter 13 is coming soon, I promise. I hope everyone has a wonderful day! <333 Live Long and Prosper!


	13. It Might Kill Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!!
> 
> I promised faster updates, and so here we are! lol The darker chapters are really starting to weigh on me, and so my original plan was to have a few other scenes leading up to the comfort.... but I a) don't want to necessarily drag the story, as well I'm not one to detail abuse if it's unecessary, and I also REALLY want to get Spock some help because it's hurting me 3 UGHHH
> 
> Anyways, BIG thank you to plaidshirtjimkirk for betaing this chapter for me! She was super stressed and busy and she still edited it and gave me some really helpful advice! I'd be lost without her and her brilliance! She is such a treasure to the fandom and I'm always so grateful for her! I rec all her stories! There's literally nothing she's written that I haven't liked... she's the inspiration in my writing always!! !<333 I just AAAAH!!!
> 
> Also thank you to the readers, especially those who have supported me through this with incredibly thoughtful comments and messages and so forth. You are all wonderful ppl and I'm also so grateful that you all are reading my story. Thank you. 
> 
> Title from the song If It kills Me by Jason Mraz, I know I titled another chapter after it BUT it makes sense to me seeing how this chapter ended up. 
> 
> ANYWAYS enjoy the chapter and as I keep saying the comfort is fast approaching!!!

**It Might Kill Me**

 

Standing was proving to be more difficult than Jim had first anticipated. As he pushed himself onto his knees, he stumbled to bring his legs from beneath him, and struggled to catch himself on the wall in front of him as he did so. The pain was throbbing inside his skull; the portion near the back of his head where he had apparently acquired the concussion was beginning to ache something fierce, but Jim had no choice but to push his ailments aside.

The doors were already wide open and waiting for Jim’s departure. It was a difficult maneuver for somebody who had almost lost consciousness from an unknown onslaught of… of…

Jim wasn’t quite sure.

From outside the doors, there was loud chattering and the sound of crewmembers discussing among themselves in a highly emotional setting. As Jim stepped out into the corridor, he watched as the hall was filled with curious members of the Enterprise, begging the security members to inform them why they had been held up in this place and prevented from returning to their stations.

A security guard made eye contact with the captain, lowering the phaser he was holding loosely on stun in his hand. It would not be used in an act of hostility against the crew, not for a situation like this where they didn’t know if a threat existed. The phaser was instead used to merely implement authority. Since they were armed, they had potential power.

“At ease.” Jim waved the phaser down, feeling his swollen mind begin to simmer once again. It was odd to him how quickly the painful sensation came and went. Within seconds it would come like fire scorching his brain, and dissolve to absolute, eerie silence.

“Nobody has left this level, Sir.” The guard replied sternly as many officers did in the captain’s company. It was almost bizarre to Jim, yet quite obviously appropriate given his rank over the young man.

Jim’s eyes traveled across the room, scanning the quieting members of the crews and their intensely concerned expressions. He hated to see the crew like this, in absolute fear of the unknown. To them, there was no telling what was going on. For all they knew, one of them could have been out to destroy the Enterprise.

“The ship is fine,” Jim reassured, giving the good people around him a warm smile. “We’re only waiting for our Chief Engineer to do a few scans of this floor.” He didn’t shout his explanation to the crew since he was sure that the positive news would travel among the group naturally.

As Jim began to shift his weight onto his other foot, he casually turned his head to look down the row of security officers where his eyes were drawn to a familiar face… Joseph staring directly back at him.

There was something about the way Joseph gazed at him that raised a bout of concern in him. From what Jim had known of the man, he was a much more relatable and understanding member of the RU-598 crew. There was something genuine about his character in the way he carried himself, telling Jim that somehow Joseph was all trust and no threat.

And yet… there was something incredibly inconvenient in the location of the man and the positioning of his eyes. The mysterious ping had been located in this very deck, and here Joseph was, staring cautiously at the captain with fear.

Genuine fear.

Before Jim could make the first advancement toward the tall somewhat lanky man, Joseph began maneuvering his way to the captain, his eyes never leaving his sight.

When he finally did make the approach, Joseph cleared his throat nervously, his gaze faltering now that he was so close. They both felt a hint of awkwardness, yet curiosity in one another. Jim raised his eyebrow much like Spock would have, if he had been at his side like he was meant to at this time.

“Captain Kirk?” Joseph finally spoke, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

Jim looked over the thick rims of the spectacles, admiring them silently as he had always appreciated such traditional things from the twentieth century--and glasses were no exceptions. It was convenient that his taste was so much in the classics seeing as he had a serious allergy to Retinax.****

“Is the ship in serious danger?” Joseph asked, his voice shaking quietly from his concern.

If Jim had not been so suspicious of the man, he would have suspected Joseph was not behind this. The way that his eyes quivered when he talked and the way his hand nervously played with the rim of his tunic was very much convincing.

Yet… there was still a mysterious ping from deck twenty, and Jim trusted his own crew before the RU-598’s. Seeing Joseph approach him as he did made Jim wonder whether or not Joseph had sold out his own team for something much darker. Jim had no doubt in his mind that one of the RU-598 crew was capable of such a thing. In fact, he expected it.

Jim’s eyes hardened suspiciously over the man, his arms firmly crossing over his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer Joseph at first. Yes, the ship was technically out of immediate danger, however, there was no telling what the ping could mean. What did that blurred transmission mean and why?

“For now,” Jim settled for saying, sighing gently without a noise. He scanned the man’s reaction, trying to sense any sort of guilt or anger in his body language.

He was met with nothing of the sort. Instead Joseph dropped his head in relief, a much louder sigh escaping his lips. “That’s good.”

 _‘The Renneral is fine.’_ Jim wanted to reassure sarcastically. That had likely been what Joseph was talking about. The RU-598 crew was very protective over their discovery, even more than Reid was protective over his own position in Starfleet command. For one of them to try and claim the entire show as their own, and possibly hand the information regarding it to Federation enemies was perhaps one of the most brilliant things that could be done. They would receive control of the Renneral, and also get the material far away from their colleagues, hands. There would be no getting it back.

Joseph cleared his throat again, eyes almost pleading with Jim for some unknown reason. “And Becky? Is she alright?” He asked as though she were the most important thing on the entire ship.

A moment of awkward silence came over Jim. He wasn’t sure what condition Rebecca was in, and in some ways, he was concerned seeing as Spock hadn’t reported to the bridge when he was supposed to be in her company. However, that wasn’t where the silence had come from; it had come from Jim feeling guilt for having pre-judged Joseph’s intentions. Perhaps he was the one who caused the ping, but his concern for Rebecca was pulping… so much like his own concern for Spock.

Two men in love, and no way to reach their partners...

“I’m not sure,” Jim answered honestly, unsure whether he was speaking for Rebecca or Spock at that moment. He watched as Joseph’s entire body lost a bit of fullness, somehow deflating with Jim’s words. “I’m sure she’s fine, we just haven’t contacted her yet.”

Joseph raised his gaze toward Jim, still uncertain about his reaction to the whole thing. He took off his glasses, cleaning the lenses with the bottom of his untucked shirt. Jim watched the calm actions and wondered how Joseph could manage to not shake when he was the prime suspect of their ship’s attack and the peculiar ping.

“I don’t want anything to happen to her,” Joseph mumbled returning his newly clean specs to their rightful place over his nose. He glanced at Jim and then looked around the room nervously which was more of the reaction he had suspected of the man. “Why are we being held here, Captain?”

 _‘As if you don’t know,’_ Jim wanted to say as well as partially wanted to believe. As much as he felt Joseph to be the culprit, a strange voice in his head told him it wasn’t. There was something so trustworthy about Joseph as a person that he felt almost guilty for thinking such things.

“We received some distressing signals coming from this deck following an attack on our ship,” Jim spoke with as little inflections as possible, not wanting to give too much away to the young man. “We have to close off this area to scan it.”

“Are you scanning it now?” Joseph asked innocently.

Jim shook his head. “No, I have to wait for my Chief Engineer to do that. He should be here shortly and then if all goes well, you can go see your fiancée.”

It was sometimes difficult for Jim to say that word for what had happened to him in the past. The heartache, the sadness, the loneliness... What made the pain even greater was that he was not able to share that term with another… fiancée.. Though he had every intention on calling Carol his beloved wife one day, he never had that chance, whether for the better or not.

However, love was not bound to the title wife, husband, fiancée., or otherwise. His connection with Carol didn’t have to entirely dessimate when the official terminology of what they were to each other was dropped. They could have lived a long and successful relationship without the formal marriage status, and so it was the loss of everything that had made Jim so distraught for all those years. It was the fact that one question had drove the woman away, had caused them to never speak again, and to regretfully--but thankfully-- go their separate directions.

Joseph bit his lip nervously, staring at some negligible point on the floor before them. Just as Jim opened his mouth to say something he wasn’t sure of yet, he heard the lift doors open to reveal Mister Scott standing tall with a tricorder-like device in his hands. Their eyes met, and Jim brought his hand up to motion him over to the two of them.

“What are you going to do when you find what you’re looking for? Is it a person or a thing?” Joseph asked as he watched Scotty coming closer.

Not as a means to be rude or disrespectful, Jim ignored the question, partially because he wasn’t sure how to answer exactly. He couldn’t tell Joseph what or who they were looking for, or even why.

Jim leaned in close to Scotty, trying to conceal their conversation while also keeping Joseph near by. “I want you to begin locating the device, starting with this man here.”

“Aye, Sir,” Scotty replied, straightening his back from their hunched positions of secrecy. He then grabbed the tricorder and inserted the information given to him by Uhura. If there was a device that had pinged on this ship, Scotty would find it.

Scotty lifted the tricorder in the air, casually turning it in the young man’s direction, sending signals to any devices on his persons. Joseph looked over to Jim fearfully.

“It’s okay,” Jim promised, waiting patiently for the results of Scotty’s scan.

As they waited several seconds, both Jim and Joseph both turned to face Scotty who was squinting at the small screen.

“He’s all clean, Sir. He’s not carrying anything that could have caused this,” Scotty informed, turning his scanner to begin tracking down the device whether on another person, or discarded somewhere.

“What did he mean by carrying anything?” Joseph asked, fixing his shirt after nervously crinkling it.

Jim peered back at him, unsure whether or not to trust the man enough with that information. “We’re trying to locate someone who contacted an enemy vessel in attempt to possibly threaten your project,” Jim told him, certain that Joseph couldn’t do much about the information.

“Is that what that attack was?” Joseph asked, his eyes growing wider.

Jim simply nodded as a means of replying. “That’s right.”

Joseph was silent, his eyes following Scotty for a moment before returning to Jim guiltily. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

It was an odd statement from an innocent man. “There’s no need to apologize unless you know more then you’re saying, Doctor Langford.”

Even more surprise was shown over Joseph’s face. He lowered his brows defensively as he spoke, “I didn’t do anything, Sir. This is the first time I’m hearing any of this.”

“Then you shouldn’t apologize, should you,” Jim replied, an eyebrow raised humorously at the man’s defensiveness.

Joseph sighed loudly, tapping his foot aggressively against the floor. “It wasn’t me, Captain.” He sounded stern and confident in his words. Just then, Scotty returned to the captain, holding a cracked PADD in his hands.

“What’s this?” Jim asked, Joseph’s words still in the back of his mind. “Is this the device?”

“Aye,” Scotty replied, handing it to Jim. As Jim looked over it, he noticed that the make and model had been of a private industry, and not one of Starfleet’s regulation devices. “The culprit must have dropped it off.”

Both men directed their attention back at Joseph, confirming that they had earlier believed that he was indeed their suspect and had simply tossed the evidence aside. Jim felt angry for ever believing he was a genuine character.

“Does _this,_ look familiar?” Jim asked, bouncing the expensive piece of technology in his hand.

There was nothing for Joseph to say, as he looked down at it pensively and bit his lip again. He attempted to speak, yet could not find the right words to use to prove his innocence.

“Yes.” He answered slowly, complete shock and astonishment coming over his features. “It does look familiar.”

“Where did this come from, Doctor Langford?” Jim pushed, wanting to get the answers now.

Again there was an awkward silence, one pregnant with uncertainty and despair. Both Scotty and the captain were unsure of the man’s involvement with the ordeal. He looked completely in disbelief and horror. Were those traits of a guilty man? Perhaps. But Jim felt his gut tell him otherwise.

“Who does this belong to?” Jim stressed, speaking frustratedly through his teeth. He didn’t have time to wait for easy questions to be answered. He needed to culprit detained and everyone else out of harm's way, as well to find his missing first officer to reassure his aching heart that he was still alive and well.

There was no answer still.

“I have over four hundred people aboard this ship, Doctor Langford.” Jim neared him pointedly. “If you don’t tell me where this PADD in my hand has come from, I will have no choice but to detain you in the brig.”

When Joseph remained silent, Jim had only to raise his hand to two of his security officers, successfully bringing them forth. “Take Doctor Langford here to the…”

“Simon,” Joseph finally spoke, his eyes struck with sadness and grief.

Jim waved the security officers down, giving Joseph an almost sympathetic look. “Who?”

“Simon,” he repeated, “My friend. He works with us in the RU-598 project. He’s our numbers guy. I didn’t want to believe it was him before, but… that’s his PADD.”

“Where is he?” Jim questioned, not letting the man go entirely just yet.

“The last I saw him he was in the recreational room. He was holding that thing, without the crack in the screen,” Joseph explained, pointing down the hall at the rec room that Jim and Spock so often utilized for chess. That particular space was much smaller, much more private than the other ones.

“What does he look like?” Jim asked, motioning some surrounding security members to go toward the room in question.

Joseph stumbled to get the right description out, almost as though he couldn’t remember what his friend looked like when he was under pressure.

“He has red hair, he’s a bit shorter than I am… he…. he has brownish eyes,” Joseph explained, using his hands to some how give Jim a better picture.

And thus, the search for Simon began. Jim sent his best officers to scour the deck high and low for the individual who was no doubt hiding somewhere, anywhere, from the men in the red shirts. Jim and Joseph travelled through the hall together, both of them searching the second rec room at the far end of the deck.

As they tossed and turned the room around, Jim noticed the completely distraught expression on the man, bringing up feelings of guilt within him again. “You and this Simon are pretty good friends aren’t you?”

Joseph nodded, pushing the three dimensional chess board aside on the table. Jim almost reached out for a moment to catch it if the need arose. “I’ve known and trusted him for years.”

Jim shook his head disappointingly.

“I don’t understand, why he would do something like this?” Joseph continued. “I mean, if he’s the one responsible, then he just put us all in danger… he didn’t even try to perserve the project we worked so hard on.” His tone slowly built as more and more anger was rising in his blood.

“The potential of great power can do that to people, Doctor Langford,” Jim sighed, hating the truth in those words.

“Don’t call me Doctor Langford, Captain,” Joseph replied. “Just call me Joe.”

Jim gave Joseph a warm smile, finally feeling as though there was one member of the RU-598 group that he could actually begin to bear. And for that, it was enough to guard the project with honour.

“It’s just..” Joseph began saying, thinking on his words a moment before altering his approach, “I mean, just between us Captain, I feel like I know why he would do it.”

Jim raised his head, indicating his interest.

“Simon never really liked Sovik all that much.” Joseph sat down on one of the nearby sofas, his hands clasping together in his lap. “He was mad at Sovik for what he did to his wife.”

“His wife?” Jim questioned, abandoning his search for a moment to follow Joseph to the couch where he stood before him. “Sovik is bonded?”

“Remember at dinner?” Joseph asked, recalling the first meal they all shared when they boarded the ship. “Sovik told you how the project belonged to him and another but he wouldn’t say who?”

Jim answered with a steady nod.

“Well, that other person was his wife, or bondmate.”

“Where is she?” Jim asked, pursing his lips together in deep thought.

A long, drawn out sigh escaped Joseph, his gaze leading up Jim’s body to his eyes. He shook his head regretfully. “She was a really nice person. She was nothing like Sovik.”

This came as a surprise to Jim--not because Sovik was bonded or had a partner, but that his partner was regarded as such a respectable person, whereas Sovik was a questionable character.

“We don’t really know _what_ happened to her,” Joseph explained, answering Jim’s next question. “She was the one who initially discovered the material and did most of the analysis of it. They didn’t know its potential power at the time, but after a few months on the planet she started acting strange.”

“How so?” Jim asked instantly.

“Screaming in the middle of the night. She would claw her face until it bled. We started seeing her less and less as Sovik took her away from us,” Joseph sighed hopelessly. “Then one day… she didn’t come back.”

Chills prickled across his skin, Jim’s heart racing. “She never came back,” he repeated softly to himself, prompting Joseph to nod.

“Simon and a few of us thought maybe Sovik had killed her, but Rebecca, who actually knows what happened, she says it wasn’t his fault.” Joseph shook his head. “But that’s all besides the point.”

“Do you think Sovik is a danger to my ship?” Jim questioned angrily, feeling himself spurting with concern.

Joseph shook his head cautiously. “No. Sovik keeps to himself. He’s very strange, but I don’t think he murdered his wife, and I don’t think he would hurt anybody.” His words were honest and genuine in Jim’s mind. He watched the man, searching for anything to tell him otherwise.

“You don’t think he murdered his bondmate, even though your best friend thought so?” Jim questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No. I really don’t. Sovik loved T’Leia. They would go on long journeys around the planet, holding hands, melding… to be completely honest I’ve never seen two people who were in love more than those two. And for a species that apparently has no love or emotion… they seemed to be really happy in each other’s company.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Jim took in all the information he was receiving. “So Simon thought he murdered T’Leia, and so you think that could be a potential motive to sell this information to the Romulans?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I think it was one of the reasons he was able to do it. He would have no remorse for ruining Sovik’s future… but I guess he didn’t think of ours either.”

Jim frowned sympathetically at Joseph, feeling sorry for the fact that he had been betrayed by his friend. However, what he was saying was indeed concerning, though quite infectious with gossip and hearsay. He didn’t particularly believe that Sovik had killed his wife, and yet he was cautious about it nonetheless. Did that mean that Spock was in danger for being in Sovik’s company so much?

“Are you concerned about your ship or your Vulcan friend?” Joseph asked, making Jim wonder if Joseph was able to hear his thoughts, or if he was merely so easy to read.

Jim smiled slightly at the thought of Spock and that happiness had turned into crazed guilt and sadness. He wanted to be reassured of his safety. He needed Spock by his side again--he wanted to see Spock back to his normal self, and to feel close to him.

Yet he wasn’t quite prepared for others to know of this desperate need he had for Spock.

“I’m worried for my ship… my first officer included,” Jim admitted gently, returning his attention to a closet located across from the sofa Joseph was occupying.

Joseph nodded silently, watching the captain’s entire demeanor change when the question of his and his first officer’s relationship was brought to light. It caused Joseph to think for a moment, pondering the possibility that there was indeed more to them than what was first thought.

And why not? Perhaps the entire crew knew of a love affair shared between the two commanding officers. He had only joined them days ago, and would only be here for a brief time. It would have no bearing on his time here, in the short or long term. Joseph only found it an interesting discovery--one that helped him relate to the captain in which he had been weary of. Weary for wondering if he had sabotaged the for-weinvaksur. Whether he had killed the plant or not, Joseph felt a closeness between them… two men stupidly in love.

The doors of the recreational room opened wide exposing a security officer, standing tall and straight in the captain’s presence. “Sir,” he announced full-toned into the room. “We found the man.”

As Joseph and Jim exited the room, they both could see Simon standing in the hall with three officers detaining him. Two were holding either side of his body by his arms, and one was patting him down cautiously for any type of explosives or weapons that could be used to further sabotage the ship.

Joseph was the first to speak, rushing over to his friend pointedly. “Simon…” Joseph was now standing in front of him, his eyes searching his friend’s face accusingly. “Why?”

Simon turned his head away, a look of guilt suddenly coming over what was once a defensive, angry expression. Jim watched his features soften when he looked at Joseph, and it reminded Jim for a moment of how human some of their enemies were.

“Why?” Joseph reiterated, trying to catch Simon’s eyes by tilting his head the direction they had gone. “Why would you do this to Becky, Roger, Daniel…. _you?_ How could you try and do this to _me?_ ”

“Stop,” Simon said with remarkable calm for someone who was in suspension for a major crime against a starship and the Federation. “I don’t want to…”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Joseph questioned aggressively, his voice shaking slightly. “You almost had us all killed. You didn’t care about the lives of your teammates… you didn’t care about the lives of all four hundred of our hosts… you didn’t care.”

Jim allowed the conversation to go on, his eyes looking between Scotty who was now joined by Yeoman Rand, both of them trying to figure out whether they should immediately take the man to detention or let the scene play out as it was. Jim nodded at them subtly.

“I cared Joe!” Simon snapped back, finally looking his friend in the eyes. “I just… I just…”

“Just didn’t care _that_ much,” Joseph filled in the blanks, taking one hesitant step back. “You didn’t care that any of our hard work would be worth something or that your best friend wouldn’t get to go to Earth and finally marry the woman of his dreams. But it really is sad that you didn’t even consider what it would feel like for me to lose my best friend. I mean… they’re going to take you away and I’m never going to see you again.”

Simon’s eyes dropped, a heavy sigh rising his shoulders up and dropping them sadly, but otherwise he didn’t reply. There was absolute silence, with Simon unsure what to make of his friend’s plea and the realization of his own future.

When the moment was finally too pressing, Simon finally lifted his chin, and looked at Joseph sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” he settled to say with tears filling his eyes. Trying hard to disallow Joseph to further guilt him, he turned his gaze to Jim’s. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Jim only gave a firm nod, feeling the end of this interaction fast approaching. He turned his eyes to the security members holding Simon’s arms back. He also gave them a nod, and waved his finger to motion them on with their work.

Simon looked back at Joseph. “I only wish the best for you Joe, and know that I’m really sorry.”

The security team had already started bringing Simon to the lift where he would make the journey to his new room in the brig for the next few days.

When he was finally out of view, Joseph turned to face Jim and Scotty, his eyes glossed over like glass, threatening to drip. “I’m sorry too, Captain.” Joseph steadily moved to the right.

“We’ll take care of him,” Jim promised, knowing that Joseph’s concern for Simon was still there; it hadn’t disappeared, only changed slightly.  

Joseph knew that the captain knew this, and he gave Jim a small smile. He felt grateful for a moment that the Enterprise was the one carrying him and his team. He was grateful for having Jim to care and understand so much, as well he was glad he had the opportunity to meet him.

Jim returned the smile, feeling similarly toward Joseph. He was pleased to have had the time to know him, and understand him. Suddenly, Jim figured he and his team might not be as bad as he once thought.

Once Joseph and the rest of the crew who had been held on the deck were dispersed and performing their own duties to the ship, Jim refocused on his own task, and he gave Scotty a thankful smirk. “Thank’s for your help, Mister Scott. We need to check the ship’s status, and see if anything has changed with those energy failures we were experiencing earlier.”

“Already on it, Sir,” Scotty replied with an even bigger smile, glad to have his captain’s praise as well as trust.

“Good, Scotty.” Jim turned to look at Rand who was very clearly wanting to speak with Jim the moment she got in the hall. “Yes, Yeoman?”

“A message from the bridge.” She handed him the PADD. “Admiral Reid is on the viewscreen in briefing room 1A on deck six.”

Jim signed off on the tablet and returned it to her. Once again another inescapable task was added to his list, meaning that Spock would once again have to wait, and his burning desire to be near him and reassured by his eyes would also have to wait.

… And wait.

-

 

Jim stared at the PADD on the table in front of him intensely, feeling his head begin to pound from a slowly developing headache once again. The pain was much different from the two he had experienced hours ago, only confirming to him how concerning the previous attack had been on his mind.

He lifted his gaze back up to the screen, reclaiming Reid’s attention. “I’ve just been informed that repairs are possible. My Chief Engineer is beginning on them as we speak.”

“Are you able to continue on your previous course, Captain?” Reid asked, folding his fingers together on the desk.

For a moment Jim’s eyes dropped to the PADD, rereading the report that had been sent to him by engineering once more. “The engines are fully functional. My engineer says we’re ready.”

“Good.” Reid’s smile was so large Jim’s felt his cheeks stinging. “Captain Kirk, I had my doubts about the handling of this project. I was worried for a moment. But I’m proud to say that I am very impressed.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Jim replied genuinely, yet somewhat distracted by the pounding migraine in his head.

“We will keep in touch, Kirk. We’re looking forward to your arrival.” Reid nodded graciously before reaching for the disconnect button on his monitor. “Reid out.”

Jim tilted the chronometer so that he could gauge the time he had spent on these tedious tasks required of him and his position on the ship. He ran his fingers through his hair with frustration, finally standing up and moving toward the door.

As he moved through the hall, Jim fumbled with the PADD in his hands as well as placing the communicator back into its holder on his belt. He finally reached the end of the hall where he entered the lift, and his brows lowered slightly at the sight of who was walking off the platform.

Sovik’s eyes looked down at Jim unenthusiastically, a hint of smugness hidden among the Vulcan mask.

“Captain Kirk,” Sovik greeted to Jim’s surprise. Typically when the two passed each other, it was in silence. Uneasy glances were usually all that transpired between them ever since the incident in the lab.

“Doctor Sovik,” Jim greeted in monotone. There was something about the accusations tossed around by Joseph that had Jim questioning Sovik’s character and possibly what he had done to his previous bondmate. He wanted to believe that Sovik was too Vulcan for the illogic of murder, and yet he still felt eerie uneasiness.

“The ship is out of danger?” Sovik questioned, his shoulders relaxing much more than Jim had ever remembered them. He was normally so stiff with tension that it almost hurt to see.

Jim nodded at Sovik cautiously, his hand tightening over the PADD in his hand. “Yes, everything is alright.”

“I’ve heard it said around your crew that the incident was caused by Romulan invaders, trying to acquire our project. Is this correct?” Sovik asked, surprising Jim with the fact that they were experiencing this lengthy conversation. Jim felt discomfort in his gut, twisting and turning, raising the question _why_ , in his mind. What had eased Sovik’s tension, and why was he so damn comfortable all of a sudden? Where was the brash, intense, angry Vulcan he had left in the hall days ago?

“That’s right. The situation is under control” Jim answered, still unsure what tone to reply to Sovik in, so he remained as he was, serious and unemotional. “I’d suggest you visit with your team member, Simon Masters. He’s being held in the brig on deck two.”

“I have been informed.” Sovik turned his eyes away from Jim’s uninterested in the subject of questioning his own man. “Were you able to contact Spock?”

Jim felt a pint of anger building up steadily in his blood. He wasn’t sure why he always got this way when Sovik began speaking about Spock. It was almost as if Sovik was not good enough to speak of him, and when Jim heard the name so carelessly tossed in the air by a man who had some sick fascination with him, it made Jim curl his nose in disgust.

“ _Commander_ Spock?” Jim corrected, lowering his brows slightly. “I haven’t. That’s where I’m headed now.”

Sovik didn’t speak, the corner of his lips twitched slightly as he peered straight into Jim’s eyes, unbothered by his brisk attitude.

“Where were you exactly during the attack?” Jim asked, turning his body to face Sovik questionably. He did not like to take precious time away from Spock so that he could speak to someone like Sovik, but he felt it necessary.

“If you are wondering the location of your… _commander_ , I have not seen him. I have been in some much needed meditation prior to the attack. I have not seen, nor heard from him.”

Jim lowered his brows again, looking over Sovik’s dark black robe, similar, but not entirely the same, as Spock’s. It was indeed a meditation robe of some sort, and there was no denying the tranquility in Sovik’s eyes. Jim nodded gently. Perhaps Sovik spoke the truth this once…

Yet there was still uncertainty.

Without acknowledging Sovik’s words, Jim turned toward the lift only to be halted again by Sovik speaking.

“Captain, might I enquire something?” he prodded, still appearing blissful in his unemotional way.

Jim still did not speak, but he turned to look at Sovik giving him the go ahead to talk anyway.

“I have noticed that Spock has been considerably quiet. Have you spoken to him in a way that might have spurred this reaction out of him?”

Jim smiled at Sovik, trying hard to bite his tongue, but releasing it before he could get a hold of it. “You of all people should know how illogical that is, Sovik… Spock’s a Vulcan. He doesn’t _feel_ emotions like anger, betrayal, bitterness.”

A stern darkness came over Sovik’s features as he turned away from Jim, with a cool and mysterious presence following him. He did not look back or slow his pace… he simply strode off, turning a corner casually.

Jim’s eyes followed until he could no longer see him. He felt an urgency to find Spock and know the reason why he’d missed the red alert. Where was he now? Where had he been all this time?

The lift doors opened, letting Jim step into it and then lean against the back wall exhaustedly. He was uncomfortable with everything he had learned about Sovik today, just as he was with Spock’s absence. Overall, he was so eager for the day to be over, to find his friend, play some chess and go to sleep-- only so that a new tomorrow would come, and perhaps the chaos of the RU-598’s presence would go away.

The doors reopened, dropping Jim off near his quarters. There was only a short distance to walk to Spock’s own, and so Jim decided to check there first. He attempted to gain access, waiting patiently outside Spock’s door and clearing his throat as he watched some officers pass.

As he had somehow expected, there was no reply. Jim sighed, worry breaching his self control.

Jim walked down the hall toward the lift again, slowly transforming from a stroll to a steady jog. Once there, he drummed his fingers against the wall, running through his mind all the logical locations where Spock could be.

When he reached deck six again, Jim moved toward the nearest comm unit on the wall, lifting his finger to press into it, until he witnessed something remarkable: Spock’s shiny black hair and pointed brows facing the ground from the way his head was lowered as he approached.

“Spock!” Jim said much too urgently than he had hoped. When his name left his lips though, he realized he didn’t care how it came out. He was just so pleased to see Spock on his feet and walking unharmed toward him. Jim almost reached out to grab Spock’s arm tightly, retracting it almost as soon as the thought came to mind.

“Captain,” Spock replied, his voice hoarse and raspy. His eyes still did not raise to meet his and Jim felt deeply concerned about this.

“Spock, where were you?!” Jim looked Spock over, trying to get into his peripheral vision.

Spock’s eyes finally met Jim’s then, wide with guilt and sadness. Jim had never seen this look on Spock’s face, even when he had witnessed him crying in the briefing room during their mission with PSI2000. Even then, Spock had not appeared this taken by his own grief.

“I was,” Spock took a moment, his eyes looking downward again, “I was incapable of reaching the bridge or contacting you.”

“Why?” Jim questioned immediately. He was displeased of course by the fact that Spock had not been able to take command of the ship during the unexpected attack, but his concern was overwhelming.

Spock winced ever so slightly, disappointed in himself for having failed Jim so miserably. “There were major malfunctions in the lab. All communications were down and the door locks had been bolted shut. When we were finally able to free ourselves…”

“Who was with you?” Jim asked sternly. “Who were you with, Spock?”

“Doctor Durrell, Sir,” Spock replied quietly, trying desperately to draw as little attention to himself as possible. “Once we were free the red alert had ended...”

“Why didn’t you report to me immediately?” Jim asked, tilting his head to the right, trying to discern Spock’s body language and piece together what was bothering him these past few days.

Spock remained quiet, his eyes casually moving away from his every time they got close. When he finally did speak, Spock glanced toward Jim, his eyes darting away moments after. “It was necessary for me to return to my quarters.”

“ _Why?”_ Jim stressed.

“I was feeling ill.” Spock closed his eyes, bowing until his chin hit his collarbone sadly. “I apologize, Jim. I did not act in accordance to my duty. I will take the necessary consequences for my actions. Do you wish for me to file a written report regarding…”

“No,” Jim answered sternly. “No I don’t.”

Those brown eyes Jim had fallen in love with so deeply, moved up to meet his, an eyebrow rising slowly.

“Sickbay,” Jim ordered, scanning Spock’s expression sympathetically.

“Pardon me?” Spock asked, leaning slightly forward to somehow further conceal their conversation from the passing crew members.

“Sickbay… I want you to report to sickbay with me right now,” Jim repeated, his eyes big with worry and concern.

“Jim, I find this is uneces…”

“It _is_ necessary, Spock,” Jim huffed observing the way Spock was leaning in further and wondering if he was able to actually continue walking. Had his Vulcan controls been hiding whatever ailments he was suffering that well? Jim found himself willing to actually carry him to sickbay if the need arose, out of worry that he might collapse on the relatively short trip there.

Spock bowed his head, silencing himself briefly until Jim placed a hand on his arm. Jim began coaxing him to start their trek over to the lift which he had just come from. As soon as Jim had wrapped his fingers around Spock’s thin arm, Spock slinked it away, pulling his entire body back from Jim with a jump.

“I am capable of going to sickbay on my own, Captain,” Spock began realizing that his reaction was quite dramatic. “You do not have to feel obligated to assist me.”

“I don’t feel _obligated_ to assist you, Spock. Now come on.” Jim tried once again to place his hand upon Spock’s arm, but Spock moved away again--this time catching Jim’s attention as odd. “What’s wrong, Spock?”

“There is nothing _wrong,”_ Spock insisted, entering the lift with Jim, hoping to divert the conversation somehow if he complied with Jim’s order.

 _“_ “ _I have noticed that Spock has been considerably quiet. Have you spoken to him in a way that might have spurred this reaction out of him?_ ”

Jim lowered his brows when he remembered Sovik’s words and looked over Spock cautiously. Since they had just occupied deck six, and sickbay was located one floor below them on deck seven, they had only a few moments to wait in the lift before the doors slid open and released Jim and his first officer into the corridor.

Spock was extremely rigid and avoidant. When he was not expected to speak, he did not. He refused eye contact and walked with an uncharacteristic slowness. Jim felt his heart begin to pain with sudden grief for his friend. Something was definitely wrong with Spock; he knew that from the moment Spock had admitted to feeling _ill._

Never had Spock ever admitted to such a thing. He would comment from time to time how some of McCoy’s medications would give him ill effects, but besides those jabs at the doctor, Jim was truly at a loss of any other time he had ever heard such a thing from him. Beyond Spock admitting it, he had never looked so sick in the time they served together either.

Below Spock’s eyes were heavy green bags, accompanied by wrinkles of stress. He also had a slightly paler complexion and his eyes were soft and fogged over with lack of focus.

“Spock,” Jim muttered under his breath, “You look awful.”

Spock turned his head away from Jim, possibly not hearing or likely ignoring him. Nothing seemed to ever get by Spock, unless he was entirely distracted by something else-- but that in itself was highly unlikely. Jim had only to sigh again.

Finally, they reached sickbay entering together through the door, and were greeted by Nurse Chapel who was carrying a tray of water and what looked to be three hypos. She gave the captain a small smirk, and her eyes instantly brightened at the sight of Spock standing in the doorway, tall and dark.

“Hello, Captain, hello, Commander.” She felt her heart began to pound in her chest, suddenly worried that Jim and Spock could see it beating through her shirt. The tray wobbled momentarily before she caught her balance, gaining enough control to hold herself unattainable as she often tried around Spock.

“Where’s Doctor McCoy?” Jim asked, peeking into the main room where the biobeds sat in the open, two of them currently occupied by crew members he did not instantly recognize.

“He’s in his office, you can try going in there now.” She motioned with her head, trying to distance herself ever so slightly and influence Spock into the chase.

Jim gave her a nod, entering further into sickbay with Spock close behind him. “Bones?” Jim called out once they both reached the doctor’s opened doors.

Upon entering, McCoy turned his head from his computer screen, his eyes instantly catching on Spock before promptly turning back to Jim. “I’m glad to see you’re finally starting to listen to me.”

“I’m here for Spock, Bones, not me.” Jim answered, “He doesn’t feel well.”

Bones raised an eyebrow at Spock, looking over his tall slender form before bringing the medical tricorder up and scanning Spock’s body. After letting the little device in his hands ring, he looked down at the tricorder and read off some of the results he could manage.

“Well, he’s not reading one hundred percent.” He lifted his eyes again to Spock’s. “Is it a stomach ache? A head injury?” McCoy asked, placing his tricorder onto the table gently.

“I do not require medical advice. I am functional. I merely require sleep and meditation,” Spock replied dryly, his hands going behind his back rigidly. He avoided all visual contact with the men, and slowly eased to a more secure location nearer to the door.

McCoy rolled his eyes, briefly looking at Jim to witness his reaction to the whole ordeal. “How about you? How are you feeling after your little affliction on the bridge?” The tricorder sounded again and McCoy began running it over Jim’s shoulders and head.

“My head’s starting to hurt, but it’s not the same as it was on the bridge. I think I’m getting another migraine from the concussion.” Jim looked at Spock, reassuring himself that Spock was at his side again, and not off in the unknown feeling sick and alone.

“You _think_ ,” McCoy grumbled, shaking his head, “I _know_ that’s the problem and I haven’t even run any major tests on you.” He placed the tricorder back on the desk, only this time with much more force than before. “If you don’t stop playing God damn games with life, you’re never going to stay in one piece!” His eyes instantly darted to Spock. “You too.”

Spock peered over to Jim, an eyebrow raised concernedly. “You experienced a migraine on the bridge?” Spock questioned, worry prominent over his face, and suddenly he no longer required his secure location by the door. Slowly he moved closer to Jim, inspecting his body closely for injuries.

“Well, sort of,” Jim replied, “I had this strange… sensation…” He tried to explain, squinting toward the ceiling as he tried to piece the right words together. “It was like pain, but in a place I never knew I could feel it.”

McCoy subtly rolled his eyes. Of course when he tried to get an explanation out of Jim regarding his mental episode Jim had nothing to say, and yet here he was transforming into a poet for the Vulcan. He was in no way surprised.

“A sensation?” Spock repeated, tilting his head to the right. He could feel his fingers twitching, wanting to reach out and meld his mind to Jim’s-- wanting to become one with Jim, strengthen the t’hy’la bond, and slowly ease Sovik’s consciousness from his own. Yet, that would prove impossible. Spock had learned that any sort of intimate contact with the captain was an absolute no. He felt constantly monitored by Sovik, as if he could feel every time his heart raced with excitement when the captain was nearby.

Jim nodded slowly at Spock, “Yeah, it was something I’ve never experienced before,” Jim continued to explain, causing Spock to almost cringe in the other direction.

 _‘The t’hy’la bond. He must have…”_ Spock inwardly sighed, ‘ _He felt my own pain.’_

“He looked like hell when it happened,” McCoy further explained, shaking his head slightly before locking eyes with Jim. “He really looked in pain.”

Another heap of regret and guilt pained him, tightening its hold on his stomach and mind. He had caused the captain such agony and discomfort, confusing him with unforgiving misery. Jim had experienced what Spock’s mind had during the rape… and Spock could not accept Jim to be corrupted with such a thing.

Spock lowered his head, tightening his hands together behind his back and feeling disgusted with himself. He was selfish for keeping the t’hy’la bond active for this long. He should have severed it when his mind first touched Sovik’s. It would have saved Spock from being attacked by Sovik a second time and would have saved Jim from all his unexplainable pain.

He felt horrid guilt for allowing the link to serve him comfort. Spock did not deserve the contentment it brought him, not when he was betraying Jim in such a way. The bond was meant to bring closeness between them, and now Spock was straining it as a crutch beneath him, and the result was searing pain to his beloved Jim.

“M’Benga will see to you, Spock. Behind the curtain over there.” McCoy motioned to the station secured in the corner, handing him the medical jumper all patients wore for their checkups. “You can go get ready.”

Spock closed his eyes, held the warm material of the jumper in his hands, and turned to Jim sorrowfully. His mind retracting the best it could, but he could feel it leaking out into Jim’s.

_‘I am sorry, Jim.”_

When Spock had finally exited the room, Jim turned to face McCoy, his worry unsettled just as much as it had been moments ago. “He doesn’t look good,” Jim commented, sitting in the chair closest to him.

“Neither do you,” McCoy added, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on his desk.

“He was trapped in the labs with Rebecca, apparently,” Jim explained, “Said that’s why he couldn’t make it to the bridge.”

McCoy looked down at his shoes, pursing his lips together and feeling himself overwhelmed with the need to shake his captain. He knew what had become of him and Spock, and wanted to tell Jim that it was alright. He could talk about it. He could be free about his attraction to the hobgoblin and it wouldn’t change the way he thought about them.

It was necessary for Jim to come forth with it. If he didn’t, it would simply add to the litany of migraines he was experiencing. That concern, coupled with the burden of the RU-598 group, added with the stress of the Romulan attack, as well as Spock’s health condition was too much to bear. How could Jim be expected to worry for Spock without telling a single soul the depth of his affections for him?

“Jim,” McCoy sighed, leaning back, lifting his eyes upwards, “You’re a good friend.”

Jim looked up at McCoy with a faint smirk, looking back down at his fumbling fingers in his lap.

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?” he added, trying not to be the first to spring up the conversation regarding his relationship with the comrade they had both become close to.

“What are you getting at, Bones?” Jim asked, leaning back in his chair, gazing at McCoy in confusion.

 _‘What do I mean…”_ McCoy started to stumble on his own thought processes. He tapped his foot gently against the edge of the desk leg, thinking vaguely of the repercussions of bringing up the subject. He considered for a moment being avoidant to the whole discussion all together.

“Spock really likes you.” McCoy bit his cheek softly, meeting eyes with Jim for a moment, and then seeing the faint pink colour brush across his face.

“He’s a great first officer,” Jim replied, playing dumb. “I like him too.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, beginning to feel hopeless in the situation he was currently in. “For Christ’s sake,” McCoy mumbled inaudibly to himself, stepping off the edge of the desk and relocating to the side of the room where he retrieved his medical PADD.

Jim thought about McCoy’s persisting words for a moment, wondering what McCoy was trying to get at and why. Why was he trying to get Jim to admit his feelings for Spock? Why was he trying to force seemingly irrelevant facts out of him? Why did he care so much?

 _‘Because he’s your friend,’_ Jim thought to himself.

Before speaking, Jim took in a deep breath, feeling absolute terror in what he was about to do. It was one thing to be terrifyingly in love, but it was another to admit to it. There was nothing Jim feared more than putting his heart on the line for others to see. The last time Jim had done a thing like that, he had been dropped harder than he had ever been dropped before.

“I think I love him.” Jim spoke suddenly, catching himself and McCoy off guard.

The doctor nearly spilt his water across his desk, luckily catching it before the liquid even touched the rim. He sighed out of relief, then returned all his attention to Jim, sitting in front of him.

A moment of silence lingered between them, and Jim lowered his gaze to his hands once again, feeling his heart race away in his chest. Jim wasn’t sure how the news would be accepted by McCoy.

Then suddenly all feelings of apprehension ceased when McCoy spoke, “I know. It’s alright.”

Jim’s breathing hitched, his nostrils flaring slightly as he felt somewhat relieved to have that thought massage his troubled mind. ‘ _You love Spock. It’s okay. You love him and that’s alright!’_

“I think I’ve loved him for a while now,” Jim further explained, looking at Bones directly.

“Since when?” McCoy continued gently, giving Jim his full attention by placing the PADD far onto the desk away from himself.

Slowly, Jim shook his head. “I know this isn’t true, and it’s probably really silly of me to say,” he almost laughed, “But I feel like I’ve always known Spock… and I feel like I’ve always loved him.”

McCoy smirked at Jim. He sounded so much like himself back in highschool when he first met Jocelyn-- of the way he would smile when he thought of her, the way she made him feel as if they had known each other forever, and that their connection was strong enough to make that sensation never leave. McCoy knew that over time, and the more Jim would delve in the relationship with Spock, the more he would realize when exactly it had happened. Twenty years down the line, he would figure it out.

“It’s not silly.” McCoy looked down at Jim’s hands on his lap. “And let me guess, you aren’t sure Spock reciprocates those feelings? Am I right?”

Jim’s smirk faded slowly into a more conspicuous look of angst and concern. He turned to look off at one of the walls of McCoy’s office. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I can tell you this Jim,” McCoy began with a chuckle, “There’s no one in the entire universe Spock likes more than you.”

“I don’t…” Jim repeated laughing gently.

“Don’t know?” McCoy finished for him, “Jim, do you see the way he looks at you? He thinks the damn galaxy of you.”

It was impossible for Jim to hide the bliss he was feeling at the thought that the passion he experienced was also felt by the one he loved the most. Above all, he felt excitement for the idea of Spock sharing even a fraction of what he was feeling, and it made Jim’s heart flutter intensely.

“Maybe.” Jim smiled, trying to force himself to stop.

“So, he doesn’t know then,” McCoy pointed out.

“I haven’t told him,” Jim confirmed, leaning on McCoy’s desk, “I’m not sure I have the capability to do something like that.”

“Says the man who just faced a cloaked Romulan attack and lived to tell the tale.” McCoy smirked.

“It always seems right when we’re getting close, _something_ happens and we can’t,” Jim grumbled in slight frustration.

McCoy snatched his PADD, pulled it closer to him over the table and began patting his fingers against the keys. “I have the perfect prescription for you.” McCoy continued to type out his notes.

Jim raised his brow curiously as he waited for him to hand him the news.

McCoy placed the PADD down on the table, glancing up happily toward Jim. “You have tomorrow off. I want you to relax, not raise your blood pressure, and enjoy your time with Spock. I’m going to be putting him on medical rest tomorrow as well.”

A laugh escaped Jim again as he ran his hand through his hair shyly. “Well…”

“I’m not finished,” McCoy bit back playfully. “I want you to spend the day with Spock. No interruptions. I want it to just be about the both of you all day.”

It sounded glorious, spending all those hours with Spock from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep. There was nothing Jim desired more at this point than to curl up next to Spock’s warmth and blossom in it like a flower in the sun. His eyes closed, envisioning the temptation of McCoy’s orders.

“Thanks, Bones,” he muttered, opening them again and looking at the doctor thankfully. “I want you to really help Spock, though. He really doesn’t look to good.”

“He’s probably alright, Jim. He likely just needs rest and so this,” McCoy forcefully pummeled his finger into the screen of the PADD, “I think will be beneficial for both of you.”

Jim nodded, excited about what tomorrow held for him and his first officer.

“Now,” McCoy pushed the PADD away from him again, standing tall behind his desk. “Let’s check out your head before you leave, and then I’m going to go in there and look over Spock.”

For once, Jim complied with his doctor with zero restraint. He simply followed McCoy out of the office and into one of the main sickbay areas. The only thing his mind was capable of rambling about was what he was going to do with Spock tomorrow… where they were going to play chess, where he was going to tell him he absolutely needed him and how much he truly truly loved him.

A genuine smile pulled at Jim’s lips, feeling his heart soar as he envisioned the conversation he was yet to have.

Tomorrow would be a great day… Jim was sure of it.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and some of the new developments. I'm personally excited for the coming chapters! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and as always I LOVE to hear your thoughts and comments. If you wish to email me any concerns, comments, or just want to chat, my email is iamcemxox@gmail.com ... OR you can follow me and or message me on tumblr [ here](http://i-am-cem.tumblr.com/) (I'm always looking for new spirk blogs to follow!) 
> 
> Anyways, I hope everyone had a good weekend and has a great week!!!! More is coming soon! Live Long and Prosper friends!!!! <33333


	14. A Blown Out Candle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is titled A Blown Out Candle, from one of the lines in ABBA's song "Chiquitita,". THAT ENTIRE SONG GIVES ME FEELS FOR THIS STORY. Its inspired a lot of this chapter. =
> 
> There's a bit of an angst warning, things take a turn, but nothing I won't fix REALLY soon. <3 
> 
> BIG THANK YOU to plaidshirtjimkirk for being super duper supportive and always being a good friend to me! I truly truly would be nowhere without her in this fandom. She is so inspirational and kind and just all around a great person. :) <3 Read some of her work [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) . Also a huge thank you to all the wonderful readers who are just amazing and ever supporting. <3 I truly can't thank you all enough. <3
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter and apologize again for the wait. <3 LLAP and happy reading friends!

**A Blown out Candle**

 

“ _Now_ , you can go, Commander.” M’Benga sighed, placing the PADD on the table beside him. He began logging the results he received into their rightful place on the device. He acted with such ease that it was clear to see he was an experienced doctor to say the least.

Spock felt his tense muscles relax finally, as he began to sit up again. He subtly winced at the pain he felt shooting up his posterior to his neck, and then rattling somewhere in his brain. There, he could feel Sovik lightly humming in his mind--a humm he wanted to blur out and forget.  

His body was in pain, as well as his crowded mind. He felt as though his brain was battered and bruised, crashing to the floor like his broken shields. He felt hopeless and remorseful. Why had he let things go so far? Why could he not put these outrageous emotions aside?

_‘Pain is something of the mind. The mind can be controlled.’_

Spock repeated his mantra to himself as he slowly turned his legs of the side of the table. As he did so, he reminded himself of just how true those words were, and how that alone answered a plethora of questions for him. How could his mind control his pain when it was so overwhelmed with distress?

It was concerning to think about his shields being so useless. It had taken him years to erect these barriers-- barriers that helped to regulate his two warring halves, and put an end to the constant bickering of human vs Vulcan within him. It helped him realize logic, peace, and gave him an understanding of the world around him. They were the walls that prevented Spock from crying since he was a child.

But now, Spock felt like a child.

What was more distressing than the thought of his own fragile state was the way it had impacted those around him… mainly Jim. He had hurt Jim, plain and simple, and every time Spock recalled this fact, he felt himself sink lower and lower into a merciless grave of guilt and worry. It forced him to realize that the emotions he had thought he had rid himself of still existed and thus reminded him of the shattered controls he now possessed.

It hurt to think that the t’hy’la bond had somehow negatively impacted Jim, causing him to momentarily experience the pain and agony Spock had during the second attack. It was nauseating to even consider Jim in pain over something that he should--and _would_ \-- never know of. His beloved captain did not deserve this, and so Spock felt himself growing more firm in his decision.

_Purge the t’hy’la bond._

The idea hurt all on its own. The thought of destroying what had naturally sprouted through their friendship and comfort was disturbing. It had served so well for them over the past few years, even without their knowing, it had always been there, and Spock had hoped for it to always remain.

Standing on the bridge, Spock would feel compelled to move to Jim’s side. It was there where Spock felt his best. He felt empowered when he stood by his captain and pleasant, as though he could take on any challenge any time, as long as he had Jim there to do it with.

That was the bond that he would be breaking, and Spock felt his stomach turn.

When Spock really thought about it, he wondered if things would ever be alright between him and his beloved Jim. Would they _mesh_ like they always had without the t’hy’la bond? Would they be able to lock heads in a vigorous game of chess, or would Jim start letting him win every round? He wondered if by losing Jim as a possible romantic partner, he would end up losing Jim as something almost equally as special to him… his best friend. If Spock would lose Jim as a friend, he was uncertain what the consequences would be for himself.

It was difficult to comprehend for some, but Jim was the first person he had been able to confide in. Jim had made Spock feel so incredibly welcomed and cherished that he felt compelled to share with him. Never before had Spock ever considered another life form as a friend, and he was not ashamed to admit to it. It went without saying that even the entire ship was aware of their gleaming friendship.

_“A dream that became a reality and spread throughout the stars, a dream that made Mister Spock and me brothers.”_

Spock’s eyes shot back to the opening curtain, his brows furrowing as he was pulled further and further away from his intense inner dialogue. Slowly they faded until he was fully aware of Doctor McCoy standing three feet away from him with a concerned expression plastered on his face. Why was everyone displaying this emotion to him recently? He had not required, nor desired such expressions.

“Oh, Mister Spock,” M’Benga finally spoke, almost in a surprised tone. “There’s one last thing. I need to get a blood sample from you. It will only take a few minutes,” he explained as he pulled the latex gloves from his hands and headed towards the opening McCoy had just come through. “I’ll be right back.”

It had been unfortunate for Spock when McCoy stepped into the enclosed space. Spock felt his body tighten as he had to worked even harder to keep his readings on M’Benga’s scanner at bay. Now with McCoy here, Spock was unsure how much more pressure his shields could take under his gaze as well.

It had been bad enough that M’Benga had him for over half an hour now, but he was now being scrutinized by this one as well. He felt like a caged animal, wanting to rip away from his confinement within his mind, and retreat to somewhere warm, dark, and alone. He did not wish to make idle chit chat with the doctor, or to re-explain his symptoms. He had major meditation to get to, and these doctors were slowing him down… holding him back.

“So you haven’t been feeling good?” McCoy mumbled, stepping closer to Spock, entering his peripheral vision more clearly. Spock turned his head.

“I have not been functioning at one hundred percent efficiency, though I do not believe it to be severe,” Spock replied, his tone soft yet somewhat cold.

McCoy lifted a brow, sighing with frustration as he watched the Vulcan avoid visual contact with him. “So what are you feeling? Is it just need of rest and meditation or do you feel ill?”

His question was genuine, met with a bitterness that only Spock could possess with his Vulcan heritage. “I believe my obligation to the captain to visit sickbay is fulfilled. I…”

However, Spock did not get the opportunity to continue as McCoy jumped in rapidly.

“Oh come on, Spock, spare me that Vulcan talk.” McCoy physically rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m the one in charge when you enter sickbay. As long as you remain here, my word is final.”

Spock felt an unnecessary chill run up his spine, ending uncomfortably at the back of his head where he shivered slightly. He moved his head away from McCoy’s, repressing the desire to draw in a choppy breath. His nostrils flared. If Spock had to relate this sensation he was experiencing to a human emotion, it would be anger.

“Spock,” McCoy sighed in a gentler tone, realizing Spock wasn’t intent on sharing-- which was fine; it had partly been what he had expected. “How are you feeling?”

Dark brown eyes shot back at the doctor, stern, cold, and completely unfeeling. Spock’s brows lowered, and McCoy watched those strong Vulcan hands grip the edge of the biobed tightly.

Just as Spock spoke, M’Benga entered, his expression cheerful until he witnessed the exchange between his superiors.

“Vulcans do not feel.”

He had said this so many times, it had to be true. Vulcans did not have the capacity to experience emotions, therefore it was illogical to assume that he was _feeling_ anything at the moment. Of course, human blood complicated things--as expected-- and he felt somewhat hesitant over this phrase now. How could he convince himself that he was unfeeling when he in fact was mentally writhing in pain? And it was an absolute searing pain that surpassed the physical.

The memory of Sovik burned his insides in various ways. He felt his mind had ripped just from the link he shared with the older Vulcan, and it physically pained him to interact with it. It was this, coupled with the idea that he would have to repress his relationship with Jim that had him swimming in complete rage as he peered into the doctor’s eyes. How could he be so insulting at a time like this? How could McCoy be so heartless with things he didn’t understand?

 _‘Because he doesn’t know.’_  Spock felt his hands relax, and he watched M’Benga preparing the hypo. Spock lowered his gaze, feeling somewhat shameful of his near outburst of emotion.

“Spock,” M’Benga began, “I’m going to start taking some blood now.” He inched the device closer to Spock’s unflinching body.

Both the doctors stared conscientiously at Spock while M’Benga pulled a small tab of green blood from Spock’s arm. There was not a single sound that came from Spock during the process. He simply peered towards the back wall mindlessly.

“Alright, we’re all done here,” M’Benga announced as he stored the blood sample on the near by nightstand where he would remember to grab it in order to run some tests in the Vulcan’s absence.

Just as Spock brought himself to his feet, M’Benga decided to speak again, “I’m giving you this hypo for tomorrow morning. I recommend you take the day off tomorrow, and if you're still feeling ill, come and see me.”

Spock did not reply with a nod, or a frown. He simply looked away from both doctors and began to be on his way.

“Spock,” McCoy called after him, turning to follow him and then hesitating a moment.

Without turning or speaking, Spock acknowledged McCoy’s plea and remained still for a moment, his hand holding open the curtain that lead him to the main area of the sickbay.

Taking the gesture as a response, McCoy sighed, “Have a good day tomorrow, Spock.” He half expected Spock to turn and face him to inform him how insulting it was for the doctor to apply such humanistic references to him. However, when no such thing came, McCoy felt a deeper concern build up within him.

The concern heightened even more when Spock nodded his head, and dropped the curtain behind him as he left. He was now on his way out of McCoy’s grasp and for some reason that worried him. This was much different than the Spock he was accustomed to.

The sound of M’Benga’s voice brought McCoy back away from his thoughts. He found the other doctor’s eyes staring at him intently, and gave him a look of confusion.

“That exam went much easier than Spock’s other exams,” M’Benga informed humorously, cleaning off the biobed with a disinfectant wipe as they usually did to keep things sterile from one patient to the next. His eyes roamed over to the worried McCoy who was just blanky staring at the drying marks on the bed.

McCoy believed him. It must have been a fairly easy exam considering Spock did not seem like he was up for much of a fight. He appeared so exhausted and drained that it was tempting for him to chase the Vulcan down and request a full brain scan. Something had to be off in that stubborn Vulcan mind of his, and for once McCoy missed it… missed whatever made Spock Spock.

-

 

The warmth of the shower was dearly missed as Jim stepped out of it and felt the cold tile beneath his toes. It made Jim consider stepping back in for a moment, just to delve in the comfort of it one more time.

But, Jim was a busy man today and his agenda consisted of nothing but no pressing duties, chess, rest and Spock. Lot and lots of Spock.

Excitement was now the center of Jim’s warmth, feeling his skin tingle with happiness. Just thinking of Spock brought him this extreme high. The thought of his face, the pointed tips of his ears and the pout of his lips was something he would never tire of. He wondered if this feeling would ever stop, but judging from how it hadn’t for all these years, that didn’t seem likely.

His hand traced his jaw tenderly as his other fixed the towel around his waist. As he stood before the mirror, he looked over his body critically, looking out for any blemishes or imperfections that would stand out. He wanted to appear a fraction as attractive as Spock would this evening. Jim wasn’t sure whether or not Spock would feel the excitement he was experiencing now, but he definitely wanted to try.

As he groomed over his hair, combing it just as he liked it, he decided that he was in acceptable condition to leave the bathroom. Before fully moving away from the mirror, he felt a hint of worry well up within him.

The idea of Spock’s perfection was daunting in many ways. Was Jim worthy of such an incredible partner? Would someone so wonderful ever come willingly into his arms? As he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t help but think about the last woman he tried so desperately to attract like this.

A different kind of shiver travelled up his back and caused the hairs on his arms to stand, like an electric shock. He stared blankly at his reflection and found himself looking at a man who had his heart broken once and was desperately afraid to have it shatter again.

It had been so long since he wanted a relationship as serious as the one he wanted from Spock. He wanted to be able to kiss him, and hug him, and tell him how he felt. He wanted these things regardless of whether Spock was capable of reciprocating these _emotions_. They were things Jim wanted to share with Spock and tell him.

Yet, there had been a time when Jim wanted to share his soul with another, and had ended up completely thrown aside and forgotten. Was it worth it to possibly be hurt like that again? Was it worth it to leave his heart cold and shaking on the line one last time?

 _‘For Spock? Yes.’_ Jim found himself thinking to himself, smirking hesitantly into the mirror. As sure as he was about his feelings for Spock, he still could not help but feel apprehension at the thought of giving so much of himself away to another person. What if Spock was not ready? What if Spock did not want Jim in such an intimate way? Even worse, Spock could all together not want Jim in any way just as Carol hadt. He could lose Spock totally by admitting so much of himself.

As if losing Spock as a friend would be bad enough, Jim felt that by losing Spock, he would lose the efficiency of his command team. The thought of trying to work with someone who could throw away his heart was unthinkable. There was so much trust and loyalty that had to exist between him and his fellow officers… to lose that would be a shame Jim wanted to avoid _that_ more than anything.

He wouldn’t. There was absolutely no way he would lose Spock by the end of the night. It wasn’t possible. After everything they had been through, everything they had said and experienced together, how could Spock throw any of that away? Yes, he was a Vulcan, but he was also partly human, and as Jim knew more than anyone else… both sides of that man were equally capable of love and hurt. And Jim knew it would hurt them both not to love each other.

How would it not? Spock had caressed _his_ hand under the table during dinner. It was _Spock_ who followed Jim every morning to the mess hall. It was _Spock_ would would often times touch the tip of his boot against Jim’s shin during a game of chess. It was _Spock_ who was loyal and dedicated to him and him alone. Spock loved Jim. All the logic in the universe pointed to the fact that he had to.

As Jim exited the room and entered his quarters, he instantly situated himself in front of his dresser, contemplating which shirt he was going to wear when he visited Spock.

He pulled out one of his command gold shirts, and pondered on the thought of wearing it for a moment. Should he be so predictable and fancy himself with such typical attire? Jim smirked, reminding himself of how fond he was of Spock’s regular blue tunic, and Jim decided that from all the outfits Starfleet had given him, this one was the most becoming. This was the one that screamed James Tiberius Kirk.

Gently Jim slipped into the tunic, feeling somewhat complete with it on. As Jim continued dressing himself he felt another wave of uncertainty come over him. Thoughts of Spock turning away from him and fleeing were all Jim could think about, and when he slid his foot into the last boot, he felt himself bow his head, and slowly close his eyes.

The springs of the bed creaked slightly as Jim seated himself at the end of it, bringing his hands up to his face and then running them through his hair tenderly.

He didn’t have to say anything to Spock today. He could simply walk into the Vulcan’s quarters to offer a game of chess and a bowl of whatever dish Spock desired, and everything would be fine. Everything would be safe.

But since when did Jim ever _play it safe_?

He didn’t want to end the day without at least embracing Spock. He wanted to get closer to Spock, so close that he could once feel the Vulcan’s heart against him again… to finish the kiss he seemed to constantly be missing out on.

It became more and more tempting to rush into Spock’s quarters without an invitation. He felt himself tapping his foot impatiently. He wanted Spock here, there, anywhere--as long as he was looking in his eyes, feeling the warmth from Spock’s body on his own, or to letting his aroma fill his lungs.

Jim raised himself off the bed and headed toward the bathroom again. This would not be the first time he had entered Spock’s quarters through the bathroom. It had been their passage into one another’s personal space for some years.

As he reached the door to Spock’s room, Jim stiffened for a moment, eyes closed and ready for any type of response from the other end. He opened them slowly and brought his hand up, knocking on the door loudly.

Jim wondered for a moment what condition Spock would be in when he opened the door. He was hoping that after a lengthy stay in sickbay, Spock would be able to find out what had been wrong, and possibly obtain _something_ to help him sleep or enter a more meditative state.

There was no response for a moment, and Jim felt his hopes of Spock finding rest unlikely. As he knocked a second time he heard slight rustling on the other side, and when the doors had opened, Jim felt his heart tug disappointedly.

“Spock,” Jim greeted pleasantly, his gaze warming over Spock’s seemingly flawless complexion. He admired the gentle curves of Spock’s face, but his eyes froze over the small frown over his lips. “How was your night?”

Spock paused momentarily before speaking, his eyes peering downwards before lifting to meet Jim’s. There was something so off about the way Spock appeared, and yet Jim was at a loss to place it.

“Adequate.”

The conversation seemed to be moving unnaturally and slow. Jim cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in before motioning Spock to follow him back to his quarters. “What did the doctors say yesterday?” Jim asked, finally realizing that Spock wasn’t following him.

When Jim turned to face Spock, their eyes met, Spock’s cold and unfeeling while Jim’s were much more razzled and confused. When Jim had finally transformed his expression from one of concern to one of muted disappointment, he heard a sigh escape Spock’s lips as he began to do as Jim had wanted, and followed him to his captain’s quarters.

“The doctors did not tell me anything I did not already know. I had informed you already, Captain,” Jim turned to Spock, their eyes connecting earnestly as Spock continued, “I am in need of rest and meditation.”

Quickly Jim moved to continue walking but was caught for a moment on Spock’s words.

_I am in need of rest and meditation?_

He was hoping more than anything Spock would reassure him that he _was_ in need of rest, but that was over now. Jim turned abruptly to face his friend, his eyes wide with doubt. “What do you mean?” It was all he was capable of saying through his confusion.

Spock raised his brows slightly, then let them drop again, his eyes still firm on the floor. “I have not been able to meditate, perhaps today I shall focus on doing so.”

 _“You have tomorrow off. I want you to relax, not raise your blood pressure, and enjoy your time with Spock.”_ Those had been his doctor’s orders, and Jim felt that they were just as important as a prescription of antibiotics. McCoy was absolutely right… he needed this rest, and by the looks of it, so did Spock.

“Spock,” Jim sighed, turning back into his quarters, feeling Spock’s hesitancy to follow, but knew that Spock had indeed trailed him. “I have the day off, and so do you. Do you want to catch up a bit? I mean we haven’t had much time to talk over the last couple days.”

Spock’s eyes moved fast from Jim’s and looked across the room to where Jim’s desk was, the blinking PADD in plain view. Spock felt himself shudder at the memory of that sight. The way Spock’s head had turned while Sovik thrusted himself inside him over and over again, and the way the device on Jim’s desk had witnessed it all.

Slowly, Spock’s cheeks began to glow green.

“Come sit down, I’ll get us something to eat from the synthesizer.” Jim smiled walking further into the room where he already started activating the machine, punching in the codes of two meals he knew Spock and he were fond of.

It took some time for Spock to convince himself that it was alright to step into Jim’s quarters, and even longer to take a seat at the table that they often occupied for chess and meals. It had been an innocent gesture of the captain to open up his quarters for him, he kept telling himself this.

Jim turned around and placed the two bowls on either side of the table, one for Spock and one for himself. When he then set the cutlery by both bowls, Jim took his own seat and gave Spock a pleasant smile. “Maybe we can play some chess after?”Jim suggested, taking a spoonful into his mouth as he watched Spock observing his own food.

 _‘Yes! Please!’_  Spock’s mind reached out to Jim’s, excitement causing his shields to falter. He had tried so hard the past few hours to erect a barrier between Jim and himself, hoping that possibly cutting off the bond would somehow distance Jim from him, without having to say a word.

It was clear this would not be the case. Spock could almost feel Jim’s mind blindly responding to his, and basking in the familiarity of it. Spock loved the sensation of Jim’s consciousness. Though it was weak and immature where Vulcan mind controls were concerned, Spock could not expect more from a human who had no idea of what he carried. However, it was oddly the immaturity and the inexperience that Spock enjoyed the most from it--when he felt Jim reaching for him again without even understanding.

He could not be so naive to stay. He could not look Jim in the eyes without feeling the hint of disappointment in his mind radiating from Sovik somewhere on the ship. It felt like a lie desiring such a perfect man when he was absolutely incapable of holding and loving him. He could not have Jim… he _belonged_ to another.

“I would prefer not to play chess, Sir.” Spock settled for, not wanting to lead Jim into the wrong direction. Though he wanted nothing more than the sit across a chessboard from Jim for hours, he had to keep things in perspective.

“Spock,” Jim mumbled, “Don’t call me Sir, or Captain… call me Jim like you always do.” His tone was almost suspicious, as though he was tired of correcting Spock in this way lately.

Spock simply nodded in response. He couldn’t think of another way to reply. Going back over his previous statement with the proper use of Jim’s name would not make anything he said easier. He would only be digging the dagger further into the wound.

Spock looked at nothing else but the food laid before him, not even flinching to pick up the spoon.

“Are you not hungry?” Jim asked, wondering if Spock was ever going to reply or touch the dish before him. He was certain Spock didn’t even know what he was staring at. His eyes looked so distracted, so distant, that Jim was not sure he even heard him.

Spock was incredibly hungry; he hadn’t eaten in well over a day, and he was beginning to feel nauseous from his lack of sustenance. Yet the thought of eating was quite unappetizing. He didn’t feel like filling his stomach when he was unsure if he could keep down the contents. What if he recalled the memory of the encounter? He did not wish to become ill in the presence of his captain.

But, he wanted to eat with Jim so badly. He wanted to reach over the table, place his fingers over Jim’s psi points and meld with him, give him everything that was ailing him. He wanted to show Jim why he could not do these things with him… why he was not able to hold Jim’s hands and finally admit he loved him, or to share in their usual rituals like eating their morning meal together.

He reminded himself of the days when they so effortlessly cared for one another. Spock could do these things, like touch Jim’s skin, tell him his secrets and there would be no guilt. There would be nothing there to tell him to stop and run. Those had been the days Spock desired. Those had been the days he wanted to experience over and over again.

Cautiously, Spock took the spoon in his hand, poking the food thoughtfully before take a small amount into his mouth. He tasted the flavours of the meal and though he had been staring at it for so long, he finally realized at that moment that he was eating the Vulcan meal called Ihntya.

The last time they had shared this particular dish together it had been after a seemingly awkward encounter in the observation room. The moment when he and Jim had almost touched lips. When he envisioned the sweet way Jim leaned into him, Spock dropped the spoon loudly, wanting to distance himself from the captain and the meal instantly. It hurt too much to think of. It hurt too much to desire it. Sovik would be angry and thus punish him again for his infidelity. He had said he would, and Spock was not doubtful he would do so again.

Jim crashed his hands against the table, his eyes wide  as his attention snapped across the table at Spock who was vacantly  looking back at him. “Spock!”

Spock felt his heart jump in fear at the volume in which Jim had said his name. He felt himself flinch backwards, ready to escape around the table if the need arose. “Captain, I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jim calmed himself, his concern visibly eating him alive. “I can’t watch you like this…” He finally admitted, bringing his hand up to his face. “What’s wrong, Spock?”

The room remained quiet, Jim’s heart rate bouncing off the walls, echoing in Spock’s ears. It was at this moment that Spock felt his heart lurch forward, ready to spew out every filthy detail of his life, ready to throw away their friendship--and likely his position on the ship--directly out the window. He let his head drop, chin touching his chest. Both of his hands met in his lap and he lightly fiddled with his fingers.

“Spock,” Jim exhaled again, this time with more sorrow than he had ever done before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as angry or…”

“There is no need to apologize, Jim,” Spock interrupted quietly as he pushed the bowl of Ihntya away from him steadily. “You are human, and your emotions sometimes cause such outbursts.”

“No.” Jim shook his head, his upset eyes slicing Spock’s. “It happens when something bad happens to people we love.”

Spock looked at Jim, instantly turning his head when their eyes met and standing up. He moved across the floor to the chess board standing at the other side of the room. He brought his hand up to touch it, his eyes getting caught on the small window looking out into the starry abyss surrounding their ship. He calmly used the view as a way to place his situation into perspective… how insignificant and small his problems were, and how even if Jim and he had not managed to be lovers or even friends, in the long run it would not matter.

But it hurt all the same.

Jim followed Spock to the window, coming behind him calmly, and sensually. Spock couldn’t move himself away from Jim’s breath against his hair and neck, the way Jim brought a wave of warmth and comfort with his stride. Spock gently closed his eyes, the cold material of the chessboard freezing his fingers.

His mind opened up, Jim’s hand instantly crawling across the table in front of them, and suddenly their minds connected beautifully as human hands began caressing Spock’s digits on the board. Surprisingly, Jim’s hands were very warm compared to his own, and he moved his fingers in rhythm, trying to absorb as much of Jim as he could.

Warm skin touched his neck, and Spock quickly discerned that Jim was now tracing his fingers against that place and his shoulder. Every touch caressed and soothed him. He wanted to feel more of Jim, to experience all the heat Jim was capable of giving, and Spock opened his eyes to see the tenderness of the fingers, diligently working on his own against the chessboard.

 _‘I care for you. I want to see you happy. I want to give you everything. I love you! I love you!’_ Jim’s mind reverberated, leaving Spock no other alternative but to gently cradle it with his own.

However, somewhere in the back of Spock’s mind he felt someone screaming--whether it was himself or Sovik, he wasn’t sure-- telling him to cease his actions. He was behaving filthily, like a desperate lover trying to obtain as much flesh as possible. He should not allow Jim to further prove himself to him if he had no intention on further exploring it. He wished to, but could not logically.

Sovik had been absolutely right. Jim required things of him that he was incapable of doing. He would never tell Jim his _feelings_ , and yet that was what Jim needed to hear. He was human and therefore required the reassurance of Spock’s affections. To have their minds linked was not enough for someone like Jim. It would be selfish to hoard Jim away from the world.

And yet, Spock could not move away from Jim’s body.

“Spock,” Jim whispered into the side of his neck, tugging Spock’s heart deeper and deeper into his stomach. He wanted to bring his hand to touch Jim’s face, just to feel against his fingertips, just to have some bare skin on skin contact with the man.

Their minds opened up further.

“I’m always here for you,” Jim continued to whisper, his fingers very gently brushing against the flesh over his neck. It caused for Spock to shiver again under the captain. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be strong just because of me.”

But he _did._ That was what Jim did not understand. By obtaining the truth and holding it away from Jim, he was saving the man a world of hurt. It would no doubt be too much for a human to handle. Jim would not be able to love him if he knew what had happened.

“I really care about you, Spock,” Jim admitted, slipping away from behind him, but never removing his hand from Spock’s. He then moved beside Spock, his eyes strong and warm on him.

Spock was incredibly handsome like that, standing stoically in the dim light and silhouetted by the light of the stars. He looked mysterious and strong, yet completely vulnerable and wrecked.

Jim’s hand lifted to brush Spock’s bangs, turning Spock’s head to his direction. Jim’s heart flared at the sight of Spock’s eyes meeting his own. They stayed like that for a moment until Jim shook his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips.

“There’s so much I have to tell you, and I should have told you a long time ago,” Jim sighed, bringing himself closer to Spock, their hands still pressed together on the flat surface of the board.

Spock bowed his head, threatening to turn it away until Jim placed his finger under his chin again and brought it back to his direction. “Spock… I care about you. That’s why I’m asking so much of you.” The pressure of the moment was building, causing Jim’s fingers to tremble slightly as he still had his digit placed under Spock’s jaw.

Why was this so hard? He loved Spock with so much of his being that this should have been easy. He should have been able to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly what was going on in his mind. Yet, he felt his tongue numbing, his lips pouting.

“Spock,” Jim whispered, their faces mere inches from each other. “I think I love you.”

Spock’s heart was throbbing heavily, almost painfully. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, or think. He could only feel Jim’s hand holding desperately onto his own and the trembling finger under his chin. Jim was nervous… even a Vulcan could tell.

When Spock opened his eyes again, he saw Jim’s thoughtful gaze, and the way he was now leaning forward, their foreheads almost touching.

“I love you Spock.” And Jim’s whisper was backed with the elation of their bond opening up to one another.

It felt incredible to hear at last. Jim’s affections went deeper than they had ever done before. He could feel Jim in his mind, in his heart, in his katra. He loved Jim, and here Jim was loving him.

 _‘Pathetic,’_  Sovik whispered through their bond, almost entirely flooded out by the sensation of Jim comforting Spock’s conscience. It was almost as though Jim were fighting those words away simply by being there, his love and affection repelling Sovik.

But hearing Sovik through the bond was enough to stir up the guilt and remorse again that had plagued Spock earlier. It made him unsure and wary.

Suddenly, Jim’s lips were nearing his own, and Spock felt a bundle of fear grow and expand within him. He wanted this more than he wanted air, and yet he felt terrified to let it happen.

 _‘You disgust me_. _You are filthy, and dishonorable.’_

_‘After what we have done together, you find it necessary to burden your captain for more affection?’_

_‘You shall not go around offering yourself to others.’_

_‘I will murder your captain.’_

_‘He will never understand you the way that I can.’_

_‘Do you think he would want to bond with a Vulcan like you… a half-breed Vulcan?’_

The memory of Sovik’s words ran rampant in his mind, stirring emotions and feelings Spock hadn’t experienced since the interaction with Sovik. He felt his head bruising, weighing him down until he was certain he could no longer breathe.

The final stick had snapped within him, and Spock turned his face away, pulling his hand from underneath Jim’s abruptly. He did not wish to turn and see the look on Jim’s face. He wasn’t sure he could handle such a broken expression on his usually pleasant face.

And broken it was.

Jim stood where he was, his eyes opened wide, and his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. His heart was merely dangling before him, vulnerable, cold, and abandoned on the line.

“Spock?” Jim panicked, feeling an eerie similarity to the time his heart had broken years ago. He couldn’t help but feel a lump growing painfully in his throat, unwilling to go down or up. It merely sat there making it nearly impossible to breathe or speak.

“Jim,” Spock spoke immediately after, his voice almost shaking on Jim’s name. It was so difficult to accept this fate for them, to accept that Jim and him were not meant to be.

“No, Spock, listen…” Jim tried to push himself before Spock, trying to move and follow him, but was denied a second time. Spock moved to the door briskly.

“Jim, there is something that has been causing minor distress,” Spock admitted, his eyes still avoidant of Jim’s, but his body turned to face him.

Both men dreamt of retracing their steps and changing what had happened. Jim would have never spoke those words, and he would have never admitted so much. It was foolish, it was risky, it was too fast, and it was painful. Spock would have never entered the room. He would have never opened the door for Jim, and more importantly, he would have never trusted Rebecca. If they could go back, neither of them would have let things get so out of hand.

Jim approached Spock slowly,hardening his expression, though he still felt his pain was openly exposed. He was pleased for a moment that Spock would not look at him. He was glad that he would remain strong in his memory for a little longer. There was no need for Spock to see him like this.

 _‘Break the bond. Free Jim. Save yourself the punishment, and the hurt. Save Jim,’_  Spock tried to tell himself, feeling his fingers curl into tight fists. He didn’t want to break the t’hy’la bond. He didn’t want to hurt Jim any further, yet this was exactly what they needed. Jim would be hurt for a time, but after he healed he would be thankful for his freedom.

Besides… Sovik was still capable of harming Jim, and the further Spock distanced Jim from himself, the safer Jim would become.

“We cannot continue this,” Spock almost mumbled as he desperately despised the words that were escaping his lips.

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, though he truthfully knew what Spock was saying, and he hated it… dreaded to hear it.

“This is unprofessional. You are my superior, and it would be disagreeable among the crew’s morale,” Spock tried to say as gently as possible. He wished that he could leave the conversation at this point..to leave without saying a single lie. Lies like, _‘I don’t love you.’_

“But Spock,” Jim spoke in a voice that was more like his usual self; clearly the vagueness of Spock’s intentions was pleasing for Jim as there was still hope in what he had said. “I don’t think that’s true. Besides, the crew doesn’t have to know anything. It can just be between us. We’re the only ones who need to know.”

“No,” Spock said instantly, feeling Sovik’s consciousness coming forth into the light of his mind. “We cannot.” He begged and willed the sensation of his bond with Sovik to subside.

“But we _can_ ,” Jim stressed coming closer to Spock. “I don’t know what it is Spock but I feel like you and I…”

“Jim,” Spock interrupted, trying to silence him. It hurt him dearly to stop Jim when he was rightfully pouring his heart out to him.

Disgust came over Spock as he reminded himself of what a swindler he had become. He had been lying and running around with multiple partners, teasing Jim into thinking that there was possibly hope for them. He felt pathetic and shameful for leading Jim on for so long, even if he truthfully desired Jim’s affections. Jim deserved better.

“We cannot go forth like this,” Spock reiterated, his head hanging again.

“Is that what’s been bothering you this whole time?” Jim asked, finding it to be a plausible suggestion. Spock had been functioning fine until Jim had started getting close with him. The observation deck, the botany room, at the table during dinner. Had that thrown Spock off in some way? Had he scared him?

When Spock did not answer, Jim took a silent breath and then tried again, “Was it?”

Very slowly, Spock forced himself to nod, indicating to Jim that yes… Jim’s overbearing affection had caused him to fall behind on his rest, causing him to become the distressed and exhausted Vulcan before him.

There was a long and dreary silence between them, causing Jim to sit on the couch close to Spock’s location, his hands settled lazily in his lap. It didn’t make sense, and yet, Spock said it and so part of Jim felt his heart oozing with guilt and anguish.

“Spock?” Jim finally spoke, startling Spock with the desperation in his voice.

Spock turned his gaze to meet Jim’s, and when he did, he found Jim’s eyes catching the overhead lighting from looking up at him.

“Do you not love me back?” Jim asked, his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his gut.

Both of them were silent. Jim’s hands trembled as he watched Spock’s eyes scan the floor, distancing himself as much as he possibly could. It was clear to Jim that there would be no answer from Spock.

The silence was ringing painfully in both their ears, until finally Jim decided to speak, “Alright.” Jim sighed, looking down at his black starfleet issued boots on his feet. He could see a similar pair belonging to Spock in his peripheral vision.

“Captain?” Spock questioned, looking down at his exposed friend.

No. Spock didn’t have the right to call Jim such a thing… friends wouldn’t throw other friends to the curb for reasons Spock was ashamed to admit.

Even after doing such a thing to his darling Jim, Sovik still sounded disappointed in the depths of his mind. He could feel Sovik gritting his teeth in frustration somewhere among the ship, with a tiny hint of lust intertwined.

When Jim replied in yet another silent sigh, Spock bowed his head, turning to leave Jim’s quarters again, yet somewhere inside him he felt compelled to stay. “I apologize, Captain, I shall leave…”

“Wait,” Jim said, lifting himself off the couch and headed toward Spock wistfully. “I have something I want to give you.”

“Captain, I don’t believe that is nece…” Spock tried to deflect, raising his hands defensively away from Jim. He could not let this happen. Everything all together was much too painful; he did not deserve any more kind gestures from Jim.

“No, pleas, Spock,” Jim insisted as he reached into one of his drawers.

After some time, Spock watched Jim reach for his hand, gripping it with less intimacy than before but still with a tenderness that only Jim could give him.

Suddenly, something hard was placed into Spock’s palm, and Jim’s fingers curled along with Spock’s around it, giving Spock the idea that the object was square, like a box. Even after it was passed on to him, he felt Jim’s hands remain with his, tightening slightly as Jim began to speak again.

“I want you to have this. I just feel like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.” Jim’s eyes were the ones avoiding now, as Spock peered into his captain’s with no response.

“Ji... “ Spock stuttered, clearing his throat before trying again, “Captain, please…”

“No,Spock,” Jim pleaded again, hurt by the way Spock had corrected himself from using his name as he often had in the past. That was something Jim knew he would miss over the next few years. “Please have this. I don’t care what you do with it. You can open it, you can toss it out or vaporize it for all I care… I just... It symbolizes something I could never have. But you could. And I feel like you’re the one who owns it now. I won’t be able to sleep at night unless it’s in your possession in some way.”

Everything was silent again, as Spock could not remove himself from Jim’s hold. He thought he would never feel it again, but Jim felt so warm and gentle against his skin, making him almost forget entirely about Sovik, the Renneral and all the deceit that had followed.

“Spock,” Jim quietly spoke, his eyes slowly meeting his. “I’m sorry.”

Jim’s hand dropped, the box remaining in Spock’s hands. They stayed like that for a moment, wondering if this was actually it for them, or if there was something better coming their way. As it stood now, with the small box in Spock’s fingers, and Jim eyes gazing at their feet, it seemed to be one of the last times they would be like this.

Without another word, Spock turned to face the door again, his eyes dropping to the object in his hands. A small, black box. He inched his fingers over top of it, wanting to open it, his curiosity getting the absolute best of him. What could Jim possibly decide to give to him when he was worthy of so little?

He couldn’t open it. His fingers froze in mid air above it, still shaking slightly. Sovik was absolutely forgotten, and Spock could only feel the misery leaking through his and Jim’s bond. weakening as Jim pulled back into himself, as did Spock.

Quickly Spock closed his hand over the box and gave a short nod. He lifted his chin and exhaled bitterly, pursing his lips together. “Thank you,” he said barely above a whisper.

Jim didn’t reply. He stood a distance behind Spock, arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t believe that this was what had become of them. When Spock would walk out that door, that would be the end of this discussion and an end to their epic friendship.

It was still exceedingly quiet in the room. Jim’s head throbbed from the thought of losing Spock again. The pain was almost like the one he experienced a day ago on the bridge. It was unreachable, indescribable, and inevitable. This time when the pain came, Jim let himself feel it. He drowned in it.

“Spock,” Jim bit his lip gently, “ _Say_ something.” He begged, opening his eyes, looking over at the tall Vulcan.

Spock bowed his head again, looking down at the box, clenching his hand around it once again.

What was there to say? Spock had destroyed the only thing worth cherishing in his life. He had his work, he had friends, he had possessions, but nothing was as sweet or treasured as his captain… his t’hy’la… his _Jim._

Spock let the doors to the bathroom open, and quickly he disappeared into the room silently, leaving Jim alone and feeling empty.

He entered his quarters, finally exhaling the large amount of air he had been hiding in his lungs. Releasing it should have felt good… it should have gotten rid of a fraction of the pain he was carrying in his gut, but it didn’t do anything. In fact, he felt more broken.

The deeper Spock entered his room, the more he felt Sovik in his head, pounding away like a headache that had sprouted out from nowhere. It was painful, it was heavy, and it was exhausting. Harboring another’s thoughts that did not belong to his captain, was very much daunting, and Spock felt himself collapse onto the bed, hands cradling his skull.

“Stop,” Spock whispered, pulling at his hair gently, the pain becoming too much for him to handle.

Perhaps it wasn’t entirely Sovik’s fault. Spock had never disengaged a bond himself, maybe the pain he was experiencing was from that or from some force of Jim’s mind grieving on his own.

Whatever the cause, Spock was completely incapable of determining it at the moment. The amount of pain he was experiencing was far too agonizing to ponder such things.

 _‘My Spock,’_ Sovik’s mind began coddling, ‘ _My Spock forever.’_

“No,” Spock grunted, pushing his face into the blanket on his bed. His head spinning.

‘ _My Spock.’_

It hurt to miss Jim, like nothing had hurt before. Spock had thought maybe by breaking the bond with Jim everything would be better. Yet, he felt more guilt, more remorse, and more anguish then he had ever felt before.

Beyond himself, he hated the thought of hurting Jim. He knew by the way he felt Jim’s mind pulling, that he was closing in on himself, blaming himself for what Spock had said and done. It was distressful, and shameful for Spock to feel this way, and yet he did not care. For once he wished he could cry the pain he felt away.

Spock melted into the bed where it had all started. Where Sovik had tore him away from his Jim.

… _His Jim._

-

 

Alone and empty. That was all Jim was. Like a shell of his former self, he stood and pathetically waited. Maybe, just maybe Spock would turn back, telling him everything that was on his mind and how none of what had happened had been real. Jim was just dreaming… he must have been still dreaming.

Had Jim pressured Spock? Had he imagined their entire relationship? Perhaps. There was the possibility that he had been making things up along the way, trying to convince himself that he was able to love again.

Spock had ripped out his heart just as Carol had, and just like she did, he left him. Completely. They couldn’t even be friends anymore. One statement had ruined an entire history between them, just like his past lover. He was left gaping and bleeding, and waiting.

Spock would not return to him. He couldn’t. It was clear to Jim what had been causing Spock such distress over the past few days. He likely felt awkward and bothered by Jim’s multiple attempts. Perhaps, Spock feared losing his position on the ship if he engaged in any romantic relationship with a superior. Or maybe Spock simply did not love him.

It was odd, even with the memory of Carol’s departure so clear in his mind, and the horrific aftermath being so clear, Jim was in complete disbelief. This wasn’t like Spock… perhaps there was something more to this. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely Spock speaking.

At the moment, it hurt to much to. All he could think of was what would become of himself tomorrow morning when he was supposed to walk to the mess hall all by himself. How the next time they worked the bridge together, Spock would not bring himself to Jim’s side, and brush his elbows against his shoulder.

The smell of Spock, the sight of Spock, the way the air moved as he walked by were all things Jim would desperately miss. How could Spock walk away after the night they had shared,  the _week_ they had shared? He had almost kissed Spock, he had held Spock in his arms, and fell asleep with him. How could Spock be so cold after they had been so close for so long?

A thought dawned on Jim.

Maybe Spock loved him… maybe he didn’t, but there was no denying that Jim still loved Spock. Even if Spock had told him to his face that he had absolutely detested him, he would still love him. For it wasn’t the idea of Spock loving him that made Jim adore the Vulcan. It was the subtle grace and charm that Spock possessed. It was the way Spock entered a room, the way he squared his shoulders off and started his sentences. The way he lifted his brows and clasped his hands behind him that made Jim adore who he was. He loved both _‘halves’_ of Spock.

Jim slumped into his bed, both hands tucked between his knees. As much as he respected Spock’s decision, he wished and hoped that it wasn’t true.

What was most unfortunate about the whole thing was that Jim would never be able to tell Spock what an impact he had on his life. He would never know how perfect he was, regardless of what others had told and would continue to tell him. He would never get to tell Spock that he had changed him for the better and made him a genuinely happier, and stronger man.

He would never get the chance to tell Spock that he was someone special… someone worth loving.

-

 

Rebecca took a deep breath, lowering her head until it was resting on her arms which were folded over the desk. She felt herself growing more and more nauseous, her mind constantly going over the disgraceful sight she had witnessed yesterday. The noises, the groaning, the moaning, the banging and crying. It was scary to hear Vulcans so full of anger, hatred, revenge… and sadness.

Her heart panged, remembering the noises she heard through the doorway. It was so difficult to sit through, but nowhere near as difficult as seeing the aftermath of what Sovik had left behind. The broken glass, the shattered Vulcan laying on the cold floor, his hand bleeding steadily with green blood.

She raised her head, looking over at Joseph who had been arguing about Sovik with her for the past hour.

“Joseph, he’s not to blame,” she mumbled running her fingers through her thick curls. As her fingers got caught in some of the frizz, she abandoned the endeavor all together, leaning back into the chair.

“So you’ve said,” Joseph groaned, leaning against the couch, bitterly crossing his arms over his chest.

Rebecca stood up from her chair, approaching Joseph with her arms open, catching him around the shoulders intimately. “Then _why_ won’t you believe me? Simon was just angry. He just wanted to take the RU-598 group for himself, you know that!” she argued, nearing her lips to Joseph’s jaw. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Joseph gently pushed Rebecca back, shaking his head. “It’s not about Simon, Becky. It’s just… I don’t trust Sovik, and you’ve never told me what happened to T’Leia.”

Her brows furrowed angrily, her lips tight and threatening to quiver. She couldn’t say it all now. She couldn’t do that to her future, Sovik’s future, and especially not Joseph’s. “Joe. Why can’t you accept the fact that I can’t tell you. Don’t you trust meenough to know that Sovik has nothing to do with what Simon did, or what happened to T’Leia!” Tears sprung into her eyes, her cheeks blushing red with anger and frustration.

“No!” Joseph yelled back. “You know, I trusted Simon with my life, but he put mine in danger. How do I know you wouldn’t do the same thing? If you wouldn’t, you would tell me everything.”

“Just because you gave me this ring, doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice everything about myself to you.” She finally allowed her tears to spill, the image of Spock on the ground burning alive in her mind. “I can’t tell you, and I won’t tell you, Joe! It’s not important!”

Joseph looked at the ring hanging off her neck, the old family ring aged and tattered on the glistening chain.

“You’re right, Becky. You don’t have to tell me everything.” He sighed, walking passed her to one of the bags he had sitting on top of the work desk. He reached out for some of the sentimentals he had set out on the table...pictures of family, journals and his personal PADD. He ignored the way Rebecca approached him with curiosity.

“What are you doing, Joe?” She asked, her tears making it hard to breathe and speak.

“Just because I gave you my ring doesn’t mean you have to tell me things… but I would have hoped it meant you trusted me enough to _want_ to tell me,” Joseph whispered.

“Joseph, please don’t do this,” Rebecca sobbed, holding onto Joseph’s arm protectively. How could she tell Joseph that her concealing this information was for the good of them both.  It was securing their future in Starfleet as they had always wanted. It was what would provide for them and the family they hoped to have in the near future. How could she tell him all of that without telling him the truth?

She could--she supposed-- lie to Joseph. Tell him some made up story about how T’Leia had become ill and died in the mountains in Sovik’s arms. She could tell him that Sovik was this magnificent man who had his heart broken by the woman and therefore was entitled to his mysterious and brutal demeanor.

But she couldn’t.

“Joe, listen to me!” she cried, reaching for the man she had grown to adore. Everything she had done in life was no longer for herself. Everything she had done was for them, as though they were one celestial body. But she could now feel them growing further and further apart.

“Becky, I’m not leaving you because you won’t tell me what you're hiding, even though to me that means a great deal.” He turned to face Rebecca’s beautifully glossed over eyes. He had to hold himself back from reaching up to wipe the tears from them.

“Then why, Joe? Why would you do this to us?” she cried softly, trying not to let all of herself become exposed, for fear that if she became to vulnerable she might say things she was not meant to say.

Joseph brought his hand up, but did not caress her tears away. He pulled her clinging fingers from his chest, tearing them away from the fabric of his shirt. His eyes peered down at hers, feeling sorry for the reality of their relationship.

“You’ve changed,” Joseph insisted, stepping back from the woman gently. “The Becky I knew wouldn’t have held anything back from me. She was sensitive but strong. She was capable yet completely inexperienced. Not someone who keeps running away and hiding. I miss the woman I fell in love with, Becky.”

“That’s not true, Joe!” Rebecca tried to convince him, knowing somewhere inside that she was trying harder to convince herself instead. “You know that’s not true! We’re all under stress and we’re all acting a bit crazy!”

“No, _we_ aren’t! This research group was always a bit shifty, but the only people who have changed when they got on this ship were you, Sovik and Simon.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me, Becky, it was a coincidence.”

Her eyes shut tightly, feeling like the center of her world which had kept her grounded throughout this entire trip was being ripped from inside her. “Joe, please.”

“Becky, we never laugh together anymore, or joke! You’re always with Sovik, you’re always worrying about Sovik. Hell, when’s the last time we even kissed, let alone slept together?!”

“Like I said, this project is coming to an end, and things are getting a bit stressful…”

“But you and Sovik are the only ones who are acting out of the ordinary.” Joseph explained, rolling his eyes in frustration. “I can’t explain it anymore, Becky. It hurts me just as much as it probably hurts you. But I can’t be like this anymore. Something’s not right.”

Before she could speak another word she watched Joseph lift his bag, and face her, his hand coming up. It was wordless and yet it spoke a thousand words that Rebecca was dying to forget.

Slowly, she lifted the chain from around her neck, unthreading the thick ring that was holding onto it. As she felt it come loose, she held it in her hands a moment, her fingers shivering before dropping it in the waiting palm before her.

“I love you, Joseph,” she whispered, looking up at him with her cheeks completely wet with tears.

“I love Rebecca Alice Durrell,” Joseph mumbled back.

She closed her eyes tightly, her arms crossing over her chest, rubbing her cold, bare skin tenderly as she watched Joseph step out of her life. In her hands dangled the last of their relationship… the cold chain that had kept everything together.

As soon as the doors shut, she felt herself lose all control. Her face began dripping with tears, running off her cheeks and chin quickly. She could not see clearly through the fog of her tears, and so she simply shut her them and cradled herself.

When she was quite young, her mother often told her to never let a man know you love him. She told her this because, in her mother’s eyes, men were all hounds who were out to break her heart. Her mother had worried that if she put her heart on the line, men would only hurt her and mistreat her, but she would be too blind to realize.

 _This_ was not what her mother had been afraid of.

She was dirty. She had mistreated and hurt her beloved. Joseph had wanted to love her, he wanted to hold her and call her his wife, and yet she could not do the same for him. He had told her everything about his life, and yet she could not.

And Rebecca slowly realized… suddenly the price of Renneral, the RU-598 group, as well as Sovik, was much greater than that of her own beating heart.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to send me a more private comment or would just like to chat feel free to email me at iamcemxox@gmail.com or you can follow me, message me, or send me an ask on tumblr [ here](http://i-am-cem.tumblr.com/) . I'm always looking for new blogs to follow! <333 
> 
> thank you all for being wonderful and patient! <3 Live Long and Prosper friends! <333


	15. Still Looking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank plaidshirtjimkirk for all the amazing things she does for me. She edits all my work, she supports me in everything I do, she inspires me with her incredible writing, and she is just such an amazing, accepting, and loving person. We are all so lucky to have her in the fandom... she is just PERFECT!! I HIGHLY rec everything she writes. I just finished reading her fic [Fulfilling the Needs of the One (or the both)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1184912) as well I read her fic [Not Without You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2283816) . If you are in the plaidshirtjimkirk neighborhood, DEFINITELY check these ones out as well as all of hers. I literally can't stress this enough. They are PERFECT.
> 
> Lastly, And VERY VERY VERY importantly. I was gifted this weekend with something I can't even put into words... I recently met a person under the screen name Quietoceanlove and I'm proud to call them a good friend. This individual has gifted me with an incredible incredible super beautiful piece of art for unforgettable. Quietoceanlove has been an artist I have admired for a very long time, and literally EVERYTHING she creates in magic!!!! This picture specifically is absolutely beautiful and I want to thank her for this wonderful piece, and I wanted to share it with all of you! SO feel free to follow this wonderful person on tumblr [here](http://quietoceanlove.tumblr.com/) and see more of quietoceanlove's art [here](http://quietoceanlove.deviantart.com/) on deviant art!!! 
> 
> So thank you quietoceanlove! Thank you Yesiker! Thank you plaidshirtjimkirk! AND thank you to EVERYONE who reads my stuff and this story. You are so wonderful!!! Before I rant anymore I'll leave you all to chapter 15 <3
> 
> (title inspired by "I won't give up" by Jason Mraz.......)

 

(thank you quietoceanlove for this wonderful art for all of us!)

 

~o~

 

**Still Looking Up**

 

A day of relaxation had not gone as according to plan as Jim had hoped. Though McCoy had said that _getting it off his chest_ would be healthy and beneficial to his wellness, it seemed that it had done quite the opposite. When Jim woke up he felt sore, stiff and empty… still so empty.

His sinuses were beginning to ache along with the pounding headache he was experiencing. It seemed that it hadn’t stopped from the day before. Even when he took the tablets that McCoy had given him, he still could not escape the pain. All Jim could do was bring his hand to his head and try to alleviate the stinging that way.

As he stood up, he felt his stomach become an impossibly heavy weight, causing Jim to slouch slightly and move to the dresser sluggishly. The will to put himself in the proper attire was quickly fading as Jim lifted one of the golden command tunics out of the drawer and peered down at it.

It reminded him of James T. Kirk.

Without Spock, Jim simply felt like the James that had existed, no longer was. He felt like he had lost much of himself now that Spock would no longer be around. Part of who he was, was Spock and vise versa.

Even though his connection with the particular article of clothing was gone, Jim slid into it anyways, reminding himself that he was still the same James T. Kirk, with over four hundred crew members depending on him day in and day out.

He quickly entered the bathroom, brushing his teeth and hair as was his routine every morning. After completing this, he decided to splash two large handfuls of ice cold water onto his face. As he had hoped, it seemed to comfort his head a bit, only because he was now fully concentrated on the way his face tingled from the chilliness of the water.

Upon leaving the bathroom, Jim realized that the time of the day he had been dreading the most had finally come around. He would slip his feet into his boots, step outside, and make the long lonely trek to the mess hall, unaccompanied by any Vulcan friends.

Slowly, Jim moved into the corridor, his eyes casually looking over to Spock’s door, and returning back down the hall when he noticed that Spock was nowhere to be seen… as expected. He continued his journey to the lift, hoping somewhat selfishly that he would open the lift doors and see Spock standing there, arms open and waiting.

He was not… as expected.

Jim entered the lift and gave his commands for the mess hall. He locked his eyes onto the waving lights on the other side of the lift, not even consciously thinking of anything as he did so.

When the lift finally slowed to a halt, Jim stepped out into the busy hall, and made his way to the dining hall without making eye contact with any passer bys. He couldn’t let the crew know he was so incredibly emotional, or vulnerable. People would start to question why, and he feared that possibly one of them would know.

Finally, he reached the desired location, instantly going to the synthesizer and ordering himself something light. He didn’t feel like eating a hearty breakfast, like his usual bacon and eggs, or an omelette; he simply wanted to nibble and pick at some old fashion toast and jam.

Jim heard a laugh emanating from behind him, one he found awfully familiar. As he turned to meet the noise he saw McCoy standing there with Nurse Chapel, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Good morning,” Jim greeted, trying to push all personal matters aside and appear as though his heart was fully in tact. “Don’t you look happy.”

McCoy nodded at his captain, heading to the synthesizer next to Jim’s and ordering himself a plain bowl of oatmeal. “Good morning indeed.” As soon as the device pinged, McCoy pulled the bowl out. “So, how was your day of rest with Spock?”

The two of them slowly began to move forward, Nurse Chapel taking her meal over to the table with her good friend Uhura and some of the boys from engineering.

“What rest day?” Jim mumbled into his plate, picking up the second piece of toast and taking a rather large bite out of it.

“Don’t tell me you two didn’t spend some time together like I suggested.” McCoy’s smile was quickly gone, his expression back to one of annoyance and frustration.

“No,” Jim said firmly yet distantly, “We… spent time together.”

They reached the lift, standing in front of it when McCoy turned to look at the captain with a much less enthused reaction. “You’re being almost as tight lipped as the Vulcan. Tell me what happened, Jim.”

Jim sighed, looking over at the lift disappointedly. In an attempt to change the subject he motioned to the turbolift with his hand. “Are you headed back to sickbay or are we going to the bridge?”

“Sickbay, Jim, and you're coming with me,” McCoy answered, his eyes suspiciously squinting over Jim.

“Bones, I’ve already had an…”

“It’s not for you. I have something I want you to see,” McCoy explained, stepping into the lift with Jim finally. “Now stop changing the subject, I want to know what happened that’s got you looking so glum.”

Jim shook his head. “Look it’s really nothing I want to discuss, Bones…”

“Wasn’t I the one who prescribed this rest day? Consider this your follow up appointment,” McCoy muttered as the doors reopened and they began heading for the nearby sickbay.

As they ventured down the hall, Jim felt his mind reel over last night’s events: the way Spock had left his room, the way Jim had dreaded the thought of sleeping for fear of what his dreams would entail. Jim had stayed up for most of the ship’s night, just reading and thinking about everything he had jeopardized by admitting his love for Spock.

When they reached the sickbay, McCoy and Jim instantly sauntered into McCoy’s office as they usually did. It had been their spot for a few drinks, an exchange of stories for quite some time, and the closer he got to it, the more he felt like unraveling to the doctor.

“Now tell me, Jim,” McCoy began as he brought out a bottle of brandy from his not-so-secret stash in the cabinet. He only broke out that specific brand when times were particularly rough, and by the way McCoy had been handling Jim, this seemed to be one of those occasions. “What happened last night?”

Jim pursed his lips together, his eyes blankly staring at the glass being offered to him. He took the seat across the desk from the doctor, and he peered into his glass softly, feeling himself relax. McCoy was a good friend of his… he knew he could trust McCoy.

“Bones,” Jim started, wishing he took a sip of his drink before getting into the details of his broken love life. “I told him.”

“You told him?” McCoy repeated in question. He wasn’t absolutely positive what _telling him_ entailed, and so he prodded Jim to continue.

“How I felt.” Jim looked to the ground, swirling the contents of his glass, watching the clear liquid almost spiral in its confines like a small whirlpool.   

McCoy wasn’t sure how to respond at first. Shock was his first reaction, and then, astonishingly, acceptance was what soon followed. He felt shock from the fact that _Spock_ of all people had denied Jim. The Spock who had followed Jim to every corner of the ship, the one who would stand by his captain at any cost, the one who would--and had-- take a bullet for Jim if it meant salvaging Jim any ounce of pain. It did not add up in his mind.

And then, there was acceptance which strangely coincided with his own past heartaches.

McCoy pitied Jim at the moment, knowing good and well what it felt like to be left gaping and throbbing for another person. Though McCoy would never lead others to that understanding of himself, he still knew what it was like to hurt like that. And right now, he felt it as though it had happened to him all over again, just by simply looking into Jim’s distance gaze.

“I told him I loved him, and he he told me it wasn’t professional,” Jim explained, a small sarcastic smile showing on his face. “He told me it was inappropriate of me as a superior officer to try and engage in any sort of intimate relationship with him.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean…” McCoy began, feeling like there was some fraction of hope in their situation, until Jim interrupted him.

“It does, Bones.” He sighed bitterly. “I asked him if that was the only reason and he told me he didn’t feel the same way about me.”

McCoy nodded, trying to piece together all the possible reasons why that was a plausible response from the Vulcan. Then he felt himself figuratively smacking his head in understanding.

“Well he is a Vulcan, Jim.” McCoy almost smiled, yet held back given his friend was in such a compromised state of emotion. “They express things differently than us. Hell, we don’t even know if they have the capability to love at all.”

It had clearly been a bad time to poke fun at Spock. Jim bit the inside of his cheek as he thought, trying to piece the entire thing together himself for the millionth time that day.

“You know I really thought he felt the same,” Jim sighed, finally giving his glass the attention it needed. Slowly he swallowed two mouthfuls before placing the empty vessel back onto the table.

“I thought he did too, Jim.” McCoy watched the empty cup his friend had just abandoned. He then gaze back at him and shook his head. “I really did.”

“We were in the botany room the other day.” Jim began to retell as he stood up from his chair and ventured to a wall where McCoy had an impressive display of different medicine capsules. Jim looked over the variety of colours in the enclosed space. “I took him there because he was having trouble sleeping, and so was I. When we got inside, I took him to the bench over by the far wall, and he laid his head on my shoulder. We talked until we fell asleep.”

“Doesn’t sound like a man who isn’t interested,” McCoy pointed out.

“No. No I didn’t think so either,” Jim sighed sadly, sinking back into the chair helplessly.

Suddenly McCoy darted his eyes to Jim’s, and the sheer unexpected movement of it caused Jim to look back at the doctor with surprise.

“Jim,” McCoy started, his eyes dropping down to his desk, his hands rummaging through the files in the drawer. He pulled out his medical PADD and turned to face his captain again. “I have something that you might find interesting.”

Jim leaned forward, his demeanor changing completely from one of blank helplessness, to one of interest and suspicion.

“I have Spock’s medical results here, and typically I wouldn’t share this with anybody, but given that you are the captain, and that this might affect his work performance...” McCoy looked up from his PADD and back at the captain.

“What is it?” It wasn’t so much of a question as a demand. Jim wanted to know this… not so much to salvage his broken heart, but to understand a bit more of what Spock’s condition was, and what he could do to make him better again.

“Well,” McCoy grumbled, “You aren’t going to like this… but we aren’t exactly sure what it is…”

McCoy’s assumption was correct, Jim was not entirely pleased to hear his Chief Medical Officer was not able to figure out what was going on with one of his patients. Let alone Spock.

“Get on with it Bones…”

“There’s… _something_ … in his blood.” McCoy pursed his lips together in deep thought, his eyes looking over the PADD in his hands.

“ _Something_? In his blood?” Jim questioned, trying to catch a glimpse at what McCoy was looking at on the screen.

“Well, we took a sample of that green stuff he calls blood…” McCoy grumbled just as Jim cut him off again.

“ _Bones_!” Jim griped back, trying to goad McCoy into continuing without the foul talk.

McCoy leaned back in his large chair, he let the PADD lay flat on the table. “We did some scans of his blood and there was something… off.”

“How so?” Jim asked, trying to get McCoy moving with his explanation. “What do you mean by off?”

McCoy shook his head steadily, looking back at Jim, unmoving. “I can’t explain it, Jim. M’Benga ran some tests the other night on him, and everything was fine. Then he came into my office, told me there was something wrong with Spock’s blood sample.”

It was then that McCoy stood up bringing to Jim a tiny cylinder with a liquid almost filling it. He brought the small container to Jim, holding it up to the lights above them so that they could both look at the contents within it.

Jim raised his brows, as he gazed into it, he noticed a tinge of green blood sitting almost like a bubble in the tube.

“What does it mean?” Jim asked, his eyes scanning the device.

“Well,” McCoy began, placing the container onto the desk again, then crossing his arms over his chest. “This is an old method to determining a person’s blood type. It works by putting the patient’s blood into this serum, with two types of blood elements inside it. The blood will then fuse with the opposite elements and therefore we can determine whether its type A or type B… or in Spock’s case T-positive or T-negative.”

Jim nodded to indicate his understanding of the process. It wasn’t entirely difficult to understand. Opposites attract, type A would be attracted to type B and vise versa.

“Now, I’ve conducted this experiment with Spock in the past, just because he contained some human blood elements and we were trying to see what exactly would happen when reacting with both human blood types and then Vulcan blood types.” McCoy brought out another tube of a similar appearance as the other. “Typically his blood would be attracted to T-positive in the Vulcan studies, and attracted to type AB with the human blood.”

“I see.” Jim peered down at the second vile on the table which McCoy had just brought out. When McCoy noticed Jim’s interest in it, he handed the tubular contraption to him and continued.

“Now, with the results we received yesterday evening, there appears to be something wrong.” He pointed his finger to the serum in the test tube. “You see these cells here, Jim, the greenish colour in the middle.” Jim nodded as his eyes widened in fascination with the way Spock’s blood sat like a bubble in the center of the tube, not bleeding into the rest of the liquid as he had assumed it would.

“It hasn’t agglutinated.” McCoy sighed, “It’s just sitting there.”

“Is this a human sample or a Vulcan sample?” Jim asked, reaching for the other serum and looking into it, comparing the two results closely.

“That’s the human mixture. But as you can see,” McCoy referenced over to the other tube, “The Vulcan mix is behaving similarly, except it appears to almost be sinking.” McCoy shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure what that means for Spock, but I’ve never seen his results react like that before.”

Jim peered up at the doctor, “Why are you using this old method when we have blood scanners?” he asked honestly, placing the tubes back onto the table, his heart rate increasing as he considered Spock’s danger.

“Because our scanners are giving us equally as irritating results. This was the only one I could show you to explain what’s going on in his Vulcan veins.” McCoy explained with a grumble. “I can’t understand it. There’s no reason why his blood should start acting in such a way.”

“Can someone blood just do that?” Jim asked, leaning against the table, both brows furrowed downward as he looked toward the doctor with a confused expression. “Change like that, I mean.”

McCoy exhaled through his nose, gazing at the samples on his desk. He finally turned his chin back up to the captain’s direction and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Jim. I have the capability to alter blood elements when the blood is removed from the patient, but I’ve never heard of it happening quite like this. Of course, M’Benga is doing some further research on his computer.”

Jim felt himself building with fear and yet a hint of excitement. Perhaps this had something to do with Spock’s odd behavior the previous days, and maybe this was the answer to all the riddles. Maybe there wouldn’t be a rift in the command team after all, if Spock was suffering from something and could be treated for it.

And then, guilt set in. How could Jim consider such a thing at a time like this? Spock had been ill, and was still ill, and yet he was selfishly thinking of their troubled relationship. Whether this meant Spock would be with him or not professionally or personally, Jim had to focus on finding out what had happened and how to solve this problem… and nothing else. He could not afford to lose Spock like this.

“Can’t you fix it, Bones?” Jim asked, his eyes studying McCoy furiously for answers.

“Well,” McCoy began, his voice hesitant.

“You’re my Chief Medical Doctor, Bones… you have to,” Jim replied, his hands resting on the desk as he leaned forward to look the doctor in the eyes. “You have to figure this out and fix it.”

“There’s not much we can do other than research and fiddle with blood samples, Jim… not until we reveal the specific elements that are weighing his blood like that,” McCoy explained, “I’ll have to call Spock to sickbay to inform him and tell him that he is on medical leave until we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Medical leave?” Jim unnecessarily repeated, feeling his heart becoming heavy and pained. He didn’t enjoy the idea of Spock being cooped up alone in his quarters. He knew how much Spock detested ‘relaxation’ such as that, and that, if anything, it would just make him more ill.

McCoy sighed, “Yes, Jim, medical leave.”

The only answer Jim was capable of was nodding, and he felt himself turning away from McCoy. What had happened to Spock? What was currently running through his veins that was causing such supposable chaos in his system?

“I’ll tell him, Bones,” Jim mumbled in a husky tone as he faced the door seriously. He felt his shoulder growing rigid the more he spoke. “Whatever it takes… whatever you have to do… please help Spock.”

Jim didn’t have to turn to face McCoy to know that the man was nodding in affirmation. He could feel a similar worry emanating from his friend, and it was too much for Jim to handle at the moment. Too much had happened in the last twenty four hours, and he wasn’t prepared to lose any more than he already had.

And then, Jim felt a pulling on his soul, almost as if someone had clawed onto his insides and pulled him out the door. His body was almost weightless as he moved out of sickbay and continued down the hall. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was headed or why, but all Jim knew was he desperately wanted to be at Spock’s side, and nowhere else.

-

Spock found himself at his desk in the morning, his eyes fastened on the black box in front of him. He studied it quietly, his mind reeling in directions he wished not to wander into.

The pain Jim had experienced when he told him that they would not be able to formulate a relationship beyond one that was simply platonic, was still lingering in his mind--the agony, the heartache of a thousand years bursting into flames against Spock’s already broken shields and tender mind. Spock couldn’t help but feel entirely at fault for the torture of his captain. He should have been more conscientious of the captain’s feelings. As a human, these types of scenarios were able to hurt so much more than to a Vulcan.

Aside from the remorse of causing Jim pain, there was guilt for another fact all together. Spock had _lied_ to Jim. He had told things to his captain that had no basis or factual evidence, and yet he did it with such ease and fluency.

Vulcan’s never lied, and now more than ever, Spock felt entirely human. He felt a vulnerability he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He felt sadness he hadn’t experienced since he was spilling tears in front of the captain from the illness brought aboard from one of their earlier missions.

“ _Jim,_ ” Spock wordlessly formed the name on his lips, pulling the box closer to him, holding it tightly with both his hands.

As badly as Spock wished to open the small enclosed box, he couldn’t bring himself to do such a thing. He did not deserve such satisfaction as figuring out what Jim had so desperately wished him to own. He didn’t want to have any last sentiments of Jim, for it would surely be the tipping point for him.

No. He would not open it today.

He gently pushed the box aside. It was not to say it would remain concealed forever… it simply meant that he would not dare to open it while his heart and mind were so raw with emotion. He could not compromise himself to such a degree just to satisfy his own curiosity. He had to remain in some form of control. He had to remain _somewhat_ Vulcan.

With a sad sigh, Spock raised himself from his chair, moving across the room to where his dresser was. He opened the drawer, hearing the way it silently pulled out. He rummaged through the contents within it and he found the article of clothing he had been seeking.

In his hands he held a large, simple robe. It was a simple rich brown colour that was much less appealing than his usual meditation robe--the one that sat in his hamper still soiled with the remnants of what had transpired between him and his abuser.

He pushed the thought immediately out of his mind, not wanting to think about his old robe, or what covered it. He forced himself to open the bottom of the robe so that he could slip it over his head and on top of his uniform, which he already wore in preparation for his shift.

Typically, Vulcans did not wear their robes over clothes such as this. It was rare for them to wear any clothes beneath their meditation robes in general. Yet, part of Spock told himself that it was simply for the purpose of saving time. If he had to strip off the clothes and was met with a failed attempt to meditate, than the endeavor would be pointless and he would waste time having to redress himself.

But even with this explanation clear in his mind, he considered the idea that it might have been for the reason that Spock did not wish to expose his flesh in such a dark room… the very room where Sovik had snuck up on him and took him away from the comfort of his old life.

Spock looked down at his thin frame covered by the chocolate coloured robes. He pinched the material, fixing it over the clothes beneath them, and decided it was acceptable as it was.

Finally, he moved to his meditation stone in the corner, and he kneeled next to his candles, lighting them silently and inhaling the scent as soon as they began to burn. It was relaxing already, and he felt himself gravitating to the stone.

When Spock sat on the rock, he instantly crossed his legs, folding them under the robe he wore as he had done for years… the position alone reassuring him that comfort would soon come to him if he waited.

And wait he did.

Slowly Spock turned in on himself. His eyes closed, his mind sinking deeper and deeper into his katra. He felt his soul devour his thoughts, devour all processes that were unnecessary for survival… and he simply breathed in and then out.

He felt himself going deeper and deeper, his sounds of his surroundings heightening as his awareness became incredibly strong. His eyes fluttered and his toes relaxed as he finally was meeting some sort of inner peace within himself.

 _‘Pain is something of the mind. You are proving to yourself that the mind can be controlled. You will survive this torment. You shall overcome.’_ Spock’s thoughts reiterated over and over to him.

He could feel every blood vein, every organ, every subtle movement of every cell in his body, and for once in the past few days, Spock could say he had entered a trance.

It was natural for Spock to meditate. It was in his nature to take some time during the day, and go within himself to seek answers about the universe, to seek understanding from the inside. It was necessary for his sanity, and he was beginning to feel content for a moment in his mind.

Like a hand groping and massaging his head, Spock reached deeper, trying to find the center of his pain.. the place where every throbbing sensation was stemming from. When his fingers poked a tender spot, Spock realized something distressing.

The t’hy’la bond.

Spock almost shocked himself out of the trance by meeting with the link, and when he managed to refocus on it, he felt himself drawing closer to it and then reaching for it like it was some treasured piece of porcelain he wished to handle with the greatest of care.

Gently, and slowly, Spock mentally took the light of the t’hy’la bond into his hands, and he brought it close to his face, feeling it warm his cheeks and hands as it slowly grew.

‘ _Jim,’_ He spoke in his mind, the sensation of the light against his moving lips was peculiar at first, yet stimulating. It felt like nothing his mind had mustered up before.

His words were met with tears from the orb of light, followed by a shiver. For a moment, it reminded Spock of the feeling of a trilling tribble in his hands… soft, vulnerable, shaking.

‘ _Do not weep, Jim.’_ Spock felt himself beg. He brought the orb closer to his face. ‘ _You are not the one who should be feeling such remorse. You have nothing to be shameful of.’_

The shivering subsided a moment as though it wished to speak, but couldn’t. Its size was soon too big to gently cup in his hands, and he was soon squinting at the sheer force of the light against his eyes.

‘ _You shall always be my Captain, and for that you have my gratitude for life. You have nothing but good intentions, and good character to show for your actions. You have no bruises on your conscience.’_ Spock felt himself quiver in fear, feeling the dark presence of Sovik’s mind as he gazed into the light in his arms.

There was only silence, the orb slowly flickering from an incredible light, to one that was slowly dimming. Spock could not place more of his mind against Sovik, or he would risk losing the strength of his bond with Jim. And yet, the need had not yet arose. Sovik was not being distasteful or a nuisance. He was simply present, listening, and watching.

Spock felt completely stripped down and naked. He wished to drop his hands from the orb and cover the spots on his body Sovik seemed to be already quite familiar with… perhaps even more familiar with than Spock was.

Yet, to jeopardize dropping the orb so that he could take care of such a selfish act would no doubt be unfortunate. Spock wasn’t sure he could drop the link, not when he felt how empowering it was to finally touch it with his mind. To feel the essence of Jim spilling into him.

The feeling of hands groping and slithering up his bare thighs, traveling further up until they were painfully clawing against his pelvis, caused Spock to tighten his hold on the bond. His hands clutched to Jim’s consciousness intensely, not wanting to let go and yet not wanting to risk its safety in the presence of Sovik.

He had a choice to make. Throw and shatter the light of the bond and remain in the darkness with Sovik, or run.

Spock did neither.

Instead, he woke up. His cheek pressed against the wall on his right, where he realized his trance had slowly turned restful, and he had been on the verge of sleep and meditation. As he opened his eyes fully he felt the presence of Sovik still… lingering somewhere in the room.

Suddenly he saw it. In the corner there was a figure, and for a moment Spock couldn’t tell if it was slowly approaching or if it was remaining in place to simply observe. It was unsettling to see.

“Sovik,” Spock cried out through the blackness of the room, feeling the hands that had assaulted him in his mind ghosting over his skin again. “I cannot do this!”

There was no response. Soon Spock stood, and crept away from the rock he was previously seated on. As he moved, the wind tossed the light from the candle, causing it to flicker around the room chaotically for a moment. It was then that he realized the figure was unmoving, and it raised fearful curiosity within him.

He approached it, swallowing heavily as he opened his mouth to speak. “Computer, lights at one hundred percent.”

When the lights had lifted, Spock realized that what had caused him such distress and fear was nothing more than his lute, a Vulcan artifact laid curiously behind it, making it appear as something other worldly was standing in its position.

Spock approached the two objects, his hands gently gracing over his lute with caution. He felt the illogical notion that touching it would not be wise, almost as though touching it would burn his fingers.

But it didn’t. It felt like smooth silk beneath the pads of his digits and he gently took the lute into his hands, looking over it carefully before bringing a finger forth and plucking one of the strings. It vibrated into a very eerie note, filling the already tremendously dark atmosphere with an equal amount of gloom.

Spock opened his mouth a moment, and then closed it, knowing there was nothing to say and no one to say it to. He wished to turn around with the lute in hand, and perform for Jim. He envisioned his captain on the bed beside him, where Sovik had once laid, and he wished to soothe the pain from his beloved with a Vulcan tune--a melody sure to will all pain from the mind.

He wished to, and yet he tucked the instrument back away. Looking down at the chronometer on the table, he noted how close it was to the time of his shift, and so decided to leave all intensity at the door. The Enterprise, though a place he lived on, was nothing more now than a place of work. Work was no place for such emotionalism like this.

Spock made his way to the door, holding back the scream he held in his throat. He let the doors open, stepping quickly into the hall as though he had escaped a venomous snake within his quarters. He did not wish to look back. Forcing himself in the public would make him feel obligated to behave as Vulcan as he could. It would be beneficial.

As he walked, he soon came upon the lift, and entered it with a cool expression, trying to strengthen his shields somewhat before entering the bridge. There, he would take the fewest amount of steps to reach his station. There, he would begin calculations, reporting, scanning, and everything would be alright. He would be able to momentarily step out of his mental turmoil and become useful to the ship again, become useful to his captain again.

The lift doors opened and Spock could see the lights of his station already set and ready for his arrival. He did not bother to scan the room. He knew that if his eyes travelled to the center of the bridge he would see someone he wasn’t entirely jumping to see.

He wanted Jim. It was physically difficult to step over to his station without crossing over to the captain’s chair. It was in his nature to gravitate in Jim’s direction. He now knew that every time he had done so had almost been a calling through their bond. That must have been why when Spock was at Jim’s side, he could feel the captain beaming with happiness and eagerness.

Uhura leaned back in her chair, her eyes following Spock as he passed. “Good morning, Commander,” she greeted, but was met with silence. Spock took his seat in the appropriate location, placing the ear piece he occasionally wore into his right ear.

With a bit of awkwardness, and a hint of worry, Uhura turned her eyes to Sulu’s,who was looking back at the lack of exchange with an equal amount of curiosity. She gave the helmsman a uncertain shrug, and got up to her feet.

“Good morning, Mister Spock,” Uhura said again, this time a bit more firm. She had grown closer to Spock’s side, her eyes inspecting him thoroughly.

Spock turned his eyes to her, acknowledging her, but saying nothing. When he felt that she would not leave him be, he decided to give a frustrated exhale, and a nod. Perhaps then she would realize he was in no mood to speak this morning.

It took Uhura a moment to tilt her head, looking over her once good friend with concern and fear. Spock hadn’t been the social butterfly the captain was, but he was certainly never so abruptly quiet or timid… or even rude.

“Commander…” She began but was cut off by Spock turning in his chair, eyes going hard on her own beautiful ones.

“Lieutenant, is your next statement one of extreme relevance or importance to our performance on the bridge?” Spock asked, hands gripping the edge of his chair to stop them from possibly shaking.

“Well. I was just going to ask if you were feeling alright. I heard you couldn’t make it for the red alert because…”

“Then I suggest you return to your station and continue with your work, Lieutenant,” Spock griped, turning back to his own work and settling his hand over the earpiece, indicating he was no longer listening to any further comments.

It was not his intention to come across rude, or unappreciative over Uhura’s concern. However, Spock did not require such things. He had come to the bridge to escape the reminders of Sovik, the Renneral, the t’hy’la bond. Even just her gentle voice had reminded him of how shameful he was in comparison. The way her eyes looked over at him as he passed reminded him of the friends and coworkers he could no longer look in the eyes.

He didn’t hear the lift doors open prior to his outburst, and so he did not see the way the captain stood at the door, hands crossed over his chest and inspecting him. He did not hear the quiet conversations that happened across the room, and therefore he attempted to immerse himself in his work once again.

Uhura turned to face Jim, his big hazel eyes looking over Spock with worry. As she began to walk to her station, Jim turned his eyes to her, and gave her a small, reassuring smile. One that told her it wasn’t her fault.

“Spock?” Jim said quietly, not wanting to gather the attention from every member on the bridge. When Spock was not responsive the first time, Jim attempted to call him a second time. “ _Spock.”_

This time it caught. Spock turned with almost a jump, as though he were unaware of Jim’s presence a few feet beside him. His dark brown eyes watching Jim, slowly he brought his hand up to the device in his ear, and placed it down respectfully into his lap, eyes instantly following it.

“Sir,” Spock spoke quietly in return, his fingers fumbling with the earpiece in his hands.

Jim hated to see Spock in such a helpless condition, and he hated to know that Spock knew Jim had witnessed his emotional outburst. He knew how proud the Vulcan was. It was difficult for him to hear that he had acted inappropriately on the job or displayed even some semblance to emotion.

Gently, Jim tossed his head in the direction of the lift doors. It pained him to know that Spock was in such disarray from something as mysteriously dangerous as some foreign material floating in his blood.

Spock gripped the earpiece in his hand.

“Leave that there, and come with me.”

A light green tinge stained Spock’s cheeks, his heart thumping in his side with the fear that Jim would like to speak to him about the events of the night before. He wasn’t sure he would be able to deny Jim a second time, and yet if he did not deny him like he did before or like he did with Uhura, he would face the consequences.

“Captain…” Spock began, but Jim shook his head, already heading in the direction of the lift.

“Come. Mister Sulu, you have the conn”

And there was no argument. Spock lifted himself from the chair and shamefully followed his captain out into the lift, ignoring Uhura’s look of concern as he passed.

The lift was extremely silent, filled with a thick vibration of awkwardness and discomfort. Jim commanded the lift to the deck of their quarters, and Spock’s heart began to race again.

When nobody spoke for a short time, both of them decided to take the bait, rushing to say what was on the mind at the same time.

“Jim-”

“Spock-”

Both of them went silent. Jim turned to look Spock in the eyes, his heart sinking lower and lower as he imagined what it would be like to touch Spock’s skin there in the lift. How would it feel to take those graceful Vulcan digits, and bring them to his lips?

He physically shook his head, trying to vacate those thoughts from his mind. There was no use for them there. He was not meant to think of them. Spock had voiced his thoughts and opinions on their relationship, and Jim had nothing more than to respect those decisions.

Jim looked away from Spock, feeling his heart becoming heavier the longer he watched those handsome eyes peering shamefully in his direction.

“Spock,” Jim began once more, knowing somewhere in his heart that Spock would not be the one to continue first. That Vulcan pride again.

“Spock, about last night,” Jim sighed, feeling his throat tighten, almost trying to restrict the words that were about to spill from his lips. “I want to apologize.”

“Captain, _please_ ,” Spock replied, almost desperately.

“No, let me finish Spock.” Jim held his hand up to silence Spock from speaking further. “I shouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable like that. And even though I feel these things for you, sometimes…” He paused deservingly as he ran a hand through his sandy coloured hair. “Sometimes it’s better for everyone if we keep these things to ourselves. You know what I mean?” Jim asked, just as the lift doors opened.

Spock turned to face the captain, his eyes dashing between them. It was then that Jim noticed that had been one of the first times Spock had looked him directly in the eyes for a lengthy amount of time in the past few days. He missed being able to look his first officer in the eyes.

They stepped out of the lift together, walking further down the hall as Jim continued to speak. “Spock, the last thing I would want is to ruin what we had for what I wanted.”

For once, Spock looked toward _Jim’s_ avoidant eyes. He saw the way Jim peered down at the floor in front of them, trying hard not to look in his direction. It was odd how guilty Spock became at the sight of Jim’s shame.

What was even worse was the way Spock could feel the still vibrant t’hy’la bond between them, leaking Jim’s thoughts of regret and grief over Spock’s consciousness. It was entirely reminiscent of his morning meditation… the way Jim’s thoughts felt in his arms and how when he held those thoughts, he felt like Sovik couldn’t find him. _Nothing_ could ever find him.

“If you don’t want anything like that, I respect that, and I honour your decision,” Jim continued, his eyes lifting from the floor and gazing down the empty hall with a look of honesty and confidence. Spock knew however, that even with a face as sure as Jim’s, he was not so poised beneath the surface.

Finally, they reached the doors to Spock’s quarters, raising some concern within Spock. “Sir?”

“Spock,” Jim said again over top of his first officer, grabbing hold of the conversation once more. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want what happened last night to get between us on the bridge, or between us as friends.” He was now gazing deep into Spock’s eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be around me or that we can’t be like we used to.”

Spock thought on it for a moment, his attention drifting to the doors of his quarters, his heart still throbbing in time with Jim’s as they stood inches apart from one another.

“Now, I just came from sickbay,” Jim explained, placing both hands behind him. “Bones said that he’s found some strange readings in your blood, and so he’s putting you on medical rest until they are able to isolate the cause.”

Spock’s brow twitched upwards, indicating his own shock at the revelation. “In my blood?”

Jim nodded. “He wants you confined to quarters. And I knew this would be frustrating for you, Mister Spock.” Jim smirked gently knowing exactly what Spock’s next words would be.

“I do not experience frustration as a Vulcan, Captain.”

“I was wondering if you would like to play a game of chess, just like we used to. Just to forget about everything that happened, and to stimulate our minds again.” Jim studied Spock over, his hands still firmly placed behind him. “But, if you truly don’t want to Spock, and you’d rather be alone… I can respect that too.”

There was silence in the corridor, and Jim felt the aching memory of Carol stepping back into his mind. As he stood there, he felt himself becoming smaller and smaller, his eyes slowly becoming more avoidant of the beautiful dark ones that stared back at him.

Spock raised his chin, his eyes still secure on Jim’s. He thought for a moment on Jim’s words.

_‘Play a game of chess, just like we used to… Just to forget about everything that happened… But if you don’t want to … and you’d rather be alone…’_

Spock shivered. He truly did not want to be alone. If he was left alone he would most likely think of Jim, and thus anger Sovik. He would be stuck making the same decision he was forced to make moments ago: to destroy the t’hy’la bond or to face Sovik’s consequences.

Yet, if he spent this time with Jim, he’d be putting both of them in an equal danger. Not to mention, Spock wasn’t sure he’d be able to push Jim away a second time.

“Jim,” Spock replied quietly as he mindlessly fidgeted his fingers in front of him. He felt the beating of his heart increasing as he brought his eyes to meet with Jim’s again, faltering as they saw the hazel ones glancing back at him. “That sounds agreeable.”

“You want to play chess with me?” Jim asked, somewhat surprised by Spock’s response, unsure why he was in such shock. He didn’t necessarily _need_ Spock to repeat himself, but there was an illogical need for Jim to hear him say it again.

It appeared Spock had surprised himself even. His eyes peered widely at Jim, offering no other response aside from a timid nod which slowly turned into Spock bowing his head. He could almost feel the rage Sovik would feel when he would find out. He could feel his own consciousness eating himself alive. What was Spock doing? How could he be so selfish as to put himself and his captain in such danger?

Yet, there was something keeping Spock there and silent. There was something that made him want to tell Jim that all he ever wanted to do was play a game of chess with him.

If there was any sense to his actions, it was that he was simply still in love with Jim. He felt himself _needing_ Jim like he needed a heart or a lung. Jim’s presence gave him a source of comfort and was almost to the equivalent to a good night’s rest, or a long period of meditation. Jim was comfort, support, and simply a basic necessity of Spock’s existence it seemed.

“I think I’d like that too, Spock.” Jim smiled, his throat becoming stiff as he felt himself becoming more and more ecstatic with Spock’s response. Perhaps all hope was not yet lost. Perhaps there was still something between them. Whether it was romantic, or simply platonic, it was still _something,_ and Jim could not be more pleased.

Spock took a step further down the hall only to be stopped by Jim who began speaking again. “We can’t play in the rec room. Bones wants you in your quarters so that if he needs you he doesn’t have to go searching.”

“We will be playing in my quarters?” Spock repeated, looking back at Jim with uncertainty. “I’d rather…”

“It’ll be fine Spock. We always play in my quarters…”

“Precisely. You cannot handle the atmosphere of my quarters. You have said so before in the past. You stated that the temperature for one was much too uncomfortable, as well …” Spock explained, not wishing to enter the space where it had all begun with Jim. For whatever reason, the thought of Jim standing in the room where the rape had first taken place, was too much for Spock to fathom.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim laughed, holding himself from letting his eyes roam. He no longer wanted to cause discomfort for Spock. He wanted to go easy on his _friend._ His best friend. “It’s alright. We’ll play a couple rounds and then I’ll let you get some sleep.”

Spock could only stand there with his brows raised and his hands clasped behind his back. He did not want to open his doors to the captain, and yet he had little to no energy to fight it.

“Very well, I shall set up a spot in my cabin for our game.” Spock felt himself exhale heavily, feeling as though a tremendous weight was falling from his shoulders.

“Good, I’ll meet with you in there in a few moments. I just need to go get the board from rec room,” Jim explained, waving Spock in before turning around. “I’ll be right back, Spock.” Jim shouted back at him as he was halfway down the hall and closer to the lift.

When Jim reached the inside of the lift, he turned around, seeing the way Spock looked down the corridor after him before the doors slid closed. He felt himself droop slightly. It had taken so much from Jim to hold himself together in Spock’s presence. He was happy that Spock had wanted to play chess with him again, and yet he was still somewhat caught on the way he had rejected him the day before. He didn’t want to become hopelessly distant from Spock, and yet his heart ached for the way he would never have Spock.

The doors opened again, allowing Jim to step out into the hallway and toward the rec room.

Suddenly, his eyes darted to the tall Vulcan he had felt himself growing more and more aggravated by. He watched as Sovik stood between the doors of the rec room, a member of the RU-598 crew beside him obviously speaking of Simon’s deception.

Jim moved closer to the doorway, his eyes still fastened to Sovik’s. Without speaking to one another, Jim slipped into the recreational room, instantly going to the chess board. It stood tall in the corner of the room, unoccupied, and screaming his name.

As he grasped the edges, he heard officer Riley’s voice from a near by table. “Isn’t the commander going to come in here and play with you?”

Jim turned his eyes to Riley’s, and then noticed Yeoman Rand sitting next to him; both had a large smiles plastered on their faces.

Softly, Jim chuckled, looking back at the board in his hands with a smile. “No, not today.”

“Is Commander Spock feeling alright, Captain?” Janice asked, her smile still present.

“He’s…” Jim pondered on the right word to use. One that would accurately describe his condition while also respecting Spock and his wish to blend into the shadows in his time of weakness. “He’s getting better.”

He stood up with the large board in his hands, and walked by the table offering both officers a genuine smile. “Thus, I’m running off with the board.”

“Well good luck, Captain,” Riley chuckled, turning back to Janice, giving the attractive yeoman all his attention again.

Jim smiled as he walked through the door again, thinking to himself how foolish the sentiment was from Lieutenant Riley. If anyone was in need of luck, it was Spock.

As he passed Sovik, Jim felt an indescribable feeling of unease, tension, and aggravation. He had made it a few steps passed the Vulcan, and yet he could almost feel Sovik’s hands on him, holding him back.

Slowly, Jim turned to face Sovik. He noticed that the RU-598 crew member who he had been discussing with earlier was no longer present. It was only Sovik, his eyes bearing heavily into his own. He noticed the rigidity of his muscles, and the way his shoulders were tense and square. There was no mistaking that the Vulcan across the way was very much agitated as well.

He wanted to ask what had happened, what had caused for such distress from the Vulcan, and yet… he didn’t care. He didn’t want to know what was wrong with Sovik, simply because he didn’t want to have to tend to it. He didn’t want to make it better, and therefore it was illogical to ask.

Sovik’s brows lowered, his eyes burning with what Jim had only assumed was anger.

Perhaps, Sovik had heard Jim had plans to spend some time with Spock, and that must have been the tipping point for the tense Vulcan. There was no exaggeration when it came to the attraction that Sovik had for Spock. There was no question that Sovik found something increasingly fascinating about his first officer, and he was becoming more and more protective over whatever it was.

If that had been the case, Jim felt annoyed. There was nothing about Spock that had made him Sovik’s. In fact, Spock didn’t _belong_ to anyone. He was a unique, and intensely extraordinary individual. Nothing could own a force such as Spock. He was entirely himself and no one else’s, not even Jim’s.

Without giving his actions much thought, Jim felt the corners of his lips lift into a small smile. His eyes still looking directly into Sovik’s, his body slowly moving away from the scene.

The interaction did not last long, and Jim was already beginning to move down the hall again. He did not look back at Sovik, nor did he pay any attention to whether Sovik spoke or moved; he simply continued walking down the hall.

He almost made it to the lift when he heard a curious noise coming in through a near by room. As Jim cocked his brow, he stilled, listening again for the faint whimpering noise. When he heard it again, clear as a bell, he turned his attention to the noise, cautiously moving down the corridor and listening to the whine growing louder and louder the closer he became.

The doors of a nearby observation deck opened, and Jim looked across the way where a woman sat hunched over a chair, her head in her hands, sobbing. It took a moment for Jim to take in the sight.

Jim, never being one to stand and watch another in such turmoil--especially a crew member or a guest on his ship--he approached the sniveling woman, and knelt at her side, supporting her with a hand on her knee.

Her face lifted from her hands and she looked deep into the captain’s eyes, biting her lip ever so softly to stop the whining noises she wanted so desperately to make. It was Rebecca, and Jim felt as though he knew the moment he saw her large curly hair.

“Captain?” She questioned, her eyes spilling tears down her blushing cheeks. She tried a moment to compose herself, as if to hide the fact that she were crying. She frantically began wiping the wetness from her cheeks, embarrassed for being seen in such disarray. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” Jim reassured gently, setting the chess board onto the floor at his side. He almost looked at the board pleadingly, about to promise it that he would be only a few moments with the young woman, and that Spock would be able to wait.

“I’m not usually like this.” Rebecca almost laughed as she rubbed her eyes with her hands.

Jim reached in his pocket, pulling out an unused tissue which he carried in case of emergencies. He assumed this was as much an emergency as ever.

“What, human?” Jim laughed in reply, handing her the handkerchief. She took it graciously with a smile and a chuckle.

There was a moment of silence, and Rebecca took that moment to blow her nose. She crumpled that tissue in her hands, closing her eyes shamefully. “I guess you’re right, Captain.”

Jim nodded at her, rubbing her knee soothingly as he watched the young lady shiver on the inside from some unknown anguish he was unaware of.

“What happened?” Jim asked, bringing himself off the ground beside her and then moving to the spot on the bench beside her.

She shook her head, trying to conceal her emotions once again on account of Jim’s moving closer, as well as his overwhelming concern. She could see it on his face and in his body language. He truly cared about her wellbeing, making what she had done to his first officer so much harder to bear.

“Nothing, Captain. I just… it’s nothing.” She felt the tears running down her chin becoming hotter and hotter. Her face was beginning to burn.

Jim nodded. Respecting her decision to remain quiet. He looked out the window in front of them, displaying the stars Jim had grown accustomed to chasing over the years. There was a deep love for the glistening specks that spanned thousands and thousands of miles. He had become too used to seeing them and knowing them that he almost looked at the scene as though it were his own backyard, eager to explore it like a three year old.

“Have you ever ridden in a starship like this before?” Jim asked, keeping his eyes firm on the window and the pretty array of stars beyond it.

“No,” Rebecca managed to answer, even with the guilt she felt rising in her blood. “A smaller transport vessel provided passage to Stronos. It’s very beautiful though.”

“It is.” Jim spoke almost distantly, his eyes finally returning to hers after some time. “I hope that you're finding it an enjoyable experience. If there’s anything I can do to make anything more comfortable or easier for you, you can just let me know. You know that right?”

Rebecca looked back at Jim, tears still rapidly falling from her eyes. She didn’t want Jim to leave. He was so much like her Joseph, and there was nothing she desired more at the moment than curling up next to Joseph, absorbing his warmth and loving him for all he was worth.

“Captain…” She sighed, looking out the very window Jim was now peering out of. She followed his line of sight until she met with his eyes.

“You can call me Jim, Miss Durrell, I’m off duty at the moment.”

“Jim.” She corrected, feeling herself excited that she was on a first name basis with the captain of the starship Enterprise. She couldn’t help but smile at Jim helplessly. “Call me Rebecca, please.”

Jim only nodded.

Rebecca fidgeted with her fingers, dropping her gaze toward them as she tried to figure out what exactly she wanted to say to Jim and how. She was thankful for Jim’s patience, and she raised her head again, looking over at the chess board placed aside.

“Where were you headed?” She asked, obviously interested in the board on the floor.

“Well,” Jim sighed, looking down at the object approvingly. “I was about to go to my first officer’s quarters to play some chess.” There was a somewhat disappointed tone in his voice--one that raised some concern in Rebecca. She had never heard Jim talk in such a way, as well the fact that he was speaking of Spock was unsettling.

“Commander Spock’s quarters?” She asked, her heart racing as she felt herself almost panicking.

Jim nodded, “I’m not sure if we’ll actually get to play it, he hasn’t been feeling well lately, and he’s been really… distant from me.”

Suspicion arose in her, as she thought for a moment on Jim’s words. When she looked back at Jim, she could see a look of hurt in his eyes, one she wasn’t sure Jim was capable of expressing. It was misery and regret mixed together to create some of the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

“Jim,” she spoke quietly, “Commander Spock means a lot to you doesn’t he?”

Jim pursed his lips together. His eyes did not move from the window in front of him. He was searching for the correct words, the correct response that would sum up his feelings while also paying tribute to Spock’s previous wishes the night before. But it still hurt like a fresh wound. Spock’s words and rejection still paraded inside his mind.

“He means a lot to me… yes,” Jim admitted, closing his eyes momentarily before returning them to the sight of glistening stars before them.

Rebecca nodded. “I see.” She closed her eyes as well, almost feeling Jim’s despair radiating off of him and onto herself. “And you feel him distancing himself from you?” She could relate wholeheartedly to the situation Jim was in. The way Joseph had slowly distanced himself, until the moment he decided to tell her that everything had changed for him, and that he no longer felt the same way for Rebecca, apparently because she had changed… and he was right.

Jim chuckled softly, “I shouldn’t keep going on about myself… I’m here for you, Rebecca.”

“No, Jim, I want to know more about what happened between you and Commander Spock,” she insisted, her heart falling as she became more and more aware of the fact that she had somehow torn Spock away from such a good man who was deeply infatuated by him. She had possibly played a part in the pain of the man beside her, a man she had undying respect for.

Jim looked Rebecca in the eyes and gave her a gentle smile, then fixing his gaze on the window again. He apparently could not look Rebecca in the eyes while he said the things he said.

“You know. I might be a good starship Captain, but I’ve made some really rash decisions in my life.” Jim felt his own heart being tugged downward, “When I was in my last years of the academy, I met a young girl named Carol. We met at a party, shared a few drinks, and then she was my entire world for over six months.”

Rebecca remained quiet even as Jim took a moment of silence himself, to regain the will to tell a story he had kept to himself and two other living souls for years.

“I had the most ridiculous idea to propose to her, a few weeks before I was to go off on my first deep space mission,” Jim explained, his eyes reflecting the way he recalled the entire events like scenes from a movie before his eyes. “She said no, and it really affected me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Rebecca bowed her head. She knew how hard it was to be in the situation Jim was in; even though she had only been engaged once, she still knew how hard it was to say goodbye to those you love.

“No no, I’m alright now. In fact I’m relieved she said no.” He laughed, thinking about how different his life would be now if she had said yes. He was certain he would not be the captain he was today. He would never have made it so far if he was bound to someone back on Earth.

“When I started my five year mission here, I met Spock.” He ran his fingers through his hair. It was clear to Rebecca that speaking of Spock was just as difficult, if not more difficult for him to speak of than his previous relationship with Carol.

“It took several weeks for Spock to warm up to me, but about a year into our mission, I started to look at Spock not only as a friend, but my best friend.” Jim visibly bit his lip, peering downwards.

Rebecca felt her heart racing again, she looked at Jim with an intensely guilty reaction, her hands slowly shaking in her lap. “So you're very close to him then.”

“We used to be,” he whispered. “We’ve always been really close. We used to eat almost every meal together, play chess together and take walks… we could talk for hours. But not anymore.” Jim inwardly shivered at the memory of what he and his first officer once were.

“What happened?” Rebecca asked, completely invested in Jim’s story now. Her remorse over the situation piquing as she remembered the way Jim and Spock sat together at first dinner, and then the way Spock looked after Sovik had finished having his way with him in the lab.

It was more than difficult for Jim to speak at this point. He felt incredibly sore from the previous night's events, and he couldn’t help but bow his head, and close his eyes in shame.

“Some things have changed within this last week.” Jim’s voice immediately became strong as he faced her with a smile. “But not to worry. I can assure that you’re still in the most efficient command team in the fleet. Nothing could ever change the professional relationship I share with any of my crewmembers.”

Rebecca inwardly cringed, able to guess _exactly_ what had changed. Jim did not deserve to feel the effects of Sovik’s actions. He didn’t deserve to have his heart ripped out from his chest a second time. Jim loved Spock. She could tell by the way he always looked at him, the way his eyes smiled when he thought about him.

There were things she knew that Jim would never hope to understand. There were things Jim would never speak to her about. She could risk it all if it meant reuniting Jim with his loved one, and in turn, possibly bringing some form of sanity back to the suffering Vulcan she had helped bruise.

There were these things she could tell Jim… and yet… she felt herself growing more and more afraid. She had tried to conceal certain facts in order to save herself, save her fiancé, and save their project. She loved Sovik like he was a father to her, and in many ways he was. But now things had changed. She began fearing what would happen to Spock or to Jim if certain information was breached. She feared what would possibly happen if what she knew could possibly turn around and shatter everything in her life.

 _Shatter everything in her life_ … like she had helped shatter everything in Spock’s.

Rebecca ran a shaky hand through her hair nervously. She felt her throat restricting for a moment as she considered her next words. She drew in a long breath and held it for several moments, and then exhaled.

“Jim. There’s something you need to know.”

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! It really means alot!
> 
> I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on whats going on so far! It's always nice to hear what you guys are thinking about or hoping for and predicting! :) <3 You can let me know in the comments your thoughts, or feel free to send me an ask or a message on my tumblr page [here](am-cem.tumblr.com) or feel free to send me an email at iamcemxox@gmail.com. I'm always looking for new spirk blogs to follow, and new friends to chat with! <3 
> 
> Anyways another thank you to quietoceanlove for the wonderful fanart! You are an incredible incredible person and friend!! <333 Love ya!!!!
> 
> <3 Live Long and Prosper friends<3


	16. As Naked As We Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank plaidshirtjimkirk for all the intense help and support she is constantly giving me. She is such a remarkable friend and I'm very very lucky to have met her! As well I'd like to thank Quietoceanlove for also being an incredible support and an all around great friend who inspires me!
> 
> WARNINGS: warnings as follows: Violence, sexual content, rape and non con, verbal abuse. ALSO THERE ARE NO XXXS TO MARK THE WARNING SPOTS! SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION AND SKIP IF YOU BECOME OFFENDED! 
> 
> Also The art that is above on the top of the page belonds to Yesiker! It is in reference to the last chapter, and I think it's absolutely remarkable! I love the style and the colours! It's fantastic! Please feel free to follow Yesiker on tumblr [here](http://therealdoodlenerd.tumblr.com/)

** **

_(Art by Yesiker)_

 

**As Naked As We Come**

 

It had been a while since Spock felt this way. The warmth that lingered in his stomach was something he hadn’t experienced since he’d rested in his Captain’s arms. It was a strange feeling of acceptance and confidence that he was not so acquainted with in his life, but embraced none the less.

The warmth was one thing, but there was a buzzing feeling there as well. He could feel his heart racing in his side, and for a moment, Spock was certain he was feeling something he’d never felt before…excitement.

It was bizarre feeling this emotion with seemingly so little provocation. But it would be foolish to refute the absolute actuality of its existence. Spock was excited to meet with his captain over a game of chess…he was actually _excited._

Jim had been gone for fifteen minutes and five seconds, but Spock was impatient to see him again. He pursed his lips together for a moment and his fingers fidgeted with the black box Jim had gifted him with.

It was shameful to be sitting there like that. His hands displayed the impatience he should be able to control and conquer with his years of Vulcan teachings. He should have been able to wait patiently for his captain, possibly complete some work at his desk as he did so. But Spock couldn’t help it.

Perhaps it had something to do with the news he had been given moments ago. Apparently, something foreign had been detected in his blood, causing it to react in curious ways. It no doubt had something to do with Spock’s exhaustion over the past week. He now felt as though every vein in his body was coursing with some infuriating drug. Spock felt his fist close. Why had this happened to him? Why?

Then, disgusted realization came over him. There had been a moment earlier when Spock had been unconscious in Sovik’s company. It had been in the labs, Spock had passed out on the desk, only to reawaken on Sovik’s lap, covered and inserted with all sorts of foreign substances--Sovik’s semen, the Renneral, and heaven knew what else. Perhaps something had occurred during that time period…perhaps Sovik had caused this reaction from Spock purposely.

The logic seemed plausible, yet not fully acceptable. Spock had felt ill much earlier. In fact, Spock had passed out on multiple occasions previous to the _encounter_ with Sovik. Of course his symptoms had fallen in sync with the time when the RU-598 crew boarded. Perhaps it wasn’t Sovik’s intention to make Spock unhealthy like he had, rather he’d done it accidently.

Spock shook his head. This was far too much thinking for a time when he’d actually begun to feel something other than complete despair. He would have to have faith in the doctor to figure out the causes, and perhaps he would maybe... _maybe_ ask for Jim’s assistance in figuring it out himself.

Slowly, Spock pulled the black box closer again, finding this time as good as any other to reveal the secrets it had contained for far too long. He decided since his mind had wandered into such dark, unforgiving memories, he could reward himself by feeding his curiosity. It was a curiosity he was still ashamed for bearing.

Spock wrapped his fingers around the lid, propping it off and setting it aside on the desk. He peered down, a rush of confusion coming over him.

‘ _Please have this. I don’t care what you do with it. You can open it, you can toss it out or vaporize it for all I care… I just… It symbolizes something I could never have. But you could. And I feel like you’re the one who owns it now. I won’t be able to sleep at night unless it’s in your possession in some way.”_

 _This_ had been the cause of those words. Whatever existed within the confines of the black box was what Jim had referred to as a symbol of something he could never have, and something Spock could. This was what Jim assured belonged to him and him alone.

Spock’s fingers untangled the thin tricorder strap from its small entrapment. He pulled on it slowly, detangling it, wondering to himself why Jim would bother gifting him an object with such little use and importance. First of all, this had been an earlier model strap of the tricorder from years ago. They had to replace them due to their lack of durability and strength. It was thin, flimsy, and the ends always came loose from the tricorder, defeating its initial purpose.

Secondly, Spock did not see the logic in Jim owning one, or feeling the compelling need to offer one to him. What the purpose of this gesture was, Spock was uncertain.

Finally, he settled the black strap onto the table in front of him, and then heard a tiny clink sounding like metal hitting metal. Spock slid a curious brow upwards, noticing something shimmering beneath one of the folded corners of the rough material. When he lifted it, things made slightly more sense.

A silver band with a diamond mounted on top in the center. As he gazed onto the beautiful stone, he felt himself growing with an understanding of its meaning and purpose. Suddenly, Spock felt a growing urge to lift the ring into the air and examine it in the light.

As he pulled the tiny piece of jewelry up, he realized how small it was--much too small for his own fingers, which was fine. Spock had no desire to wear the ring in the traditional fashion, and he was certain that was not what Jim had intended either.  

While it was small, the radiant jewel on top of it was anything but. It was quite large, looking much bigger as the light hit it and angled the sparkling beams outwards. As he further inspected the ring, he realized the way it was tangled in the rope of the tricorder strap. It looked somewhat odd but was very much reminiscent of the way Rebecca wore Joseph’s ring around her neck. It, too, was an improper fit on her finger. She’d found a way to compensate for that by wearing it in an entirely different fashion.

Spock tightened his hold on the ring, adoring the way the light hit the gem over top. It was something Spock was certain he could treasure for a very long time--not only because the diamond would stay completely solid and remarkable for years to come, but because of the sentimental value it held. It was a gift from Jim, after all.

Though gifts were quite an illogical thing, Spock couldn’t help this feeling of joy radiating within him. It was illogical, it was emotional—likely a symptom of this foreign substance in his blood—but Spock felt entirely attached to the small piece of jewelry.

Strangely enough, the diamond defied all laws of physics and began to actually remind Spock of Jim every time he peered into it. When he brought it up to inspect it, he almost saw the glistening of a thousand stars, twinkling and shining within the confines of the glassy stone. Each dot of light seemed to reflect a different colour, representing another light in their galaxy. For a moment Spock considered the idea that an entire universe existed within the ring in his hands.

And for this reason alone, the ring reminded him of his captain, James T. Kirk. The man he still undoubtedly loved.

Slowly, Spock brought the necklace up, inspecting it further as he contemplated wearing the craft. He wished to see how it sat around his neck.

Suddenly, the doors to his quarters opened, causing Spock to place the necklace back into the box, preparing himself to welcome his captain back and enjoy a peaceful game of chess. After the week Spock had had, he was eager to relax and unwind with his captain in the comfort of a quiet game.

Spock slowly turned toward the door, only to hear a loud crashing noise. His head shot in the direction of the doorway, eyes falling to the meditation candle stand he had acquired from Vulcan years before. He saw the top gently rolling across the floor, eventually bumping into a black boot… non regulation… size eleven.

His eyes scanned the body attached, eyes meeting the dark fiery gaze of his intruder. Sovik stood there, tall, powerful, and enraged.

Like a charging bull, he rushed toward Spock, no longer looking like a Vulcan, but a crazed beast. The pon farr had clearly not subsided. In fact, Spock could tell by the jittering of the Vulcan’s hands that it had become increasingly worse.

“Where is he?!” Sovik screamed, reaching out to grab Spock’s retreating body. He caught his hesitant wrist and pulled Spock toward himself.

“I do not understand,” Spock whispered, trying to avoid Sovik’s hard gaze. It was much too painful.

“Your precious _Captain Kirk._ ” The name slithered as violently as a poisonous snake as it left his lips, promising danger to the owner of it.

Spock looked up to Sovik at the sound of Jim’s name. He raised both brows in fear. “I do not underst…”

“Lies!” Sovik screamed, raising his hand up and connecting it painfully with the side of Spock’s face. A loud cracking noise echoed through the room. “He is here! Where is he?!”

Spock shook his head, “The captain is not here. I am unaware of his current location,” Spock stuttered, hand attempting to reach for the cheek in which Sovik had just assaulted.

Sovik spat out an odd noise Spock had never heard a Vulcan make, a cross between a laugh and a growl. Before Spock could question it further, he was tossed onto the desk, his head painfully hitting the wall behind it.

“We shall see,” Sovik snarled, fiercely showing his teeth, like a lion closing in on its prey. “We’ll see how much you are hiding from your betrothed!”

Sovik’s voice was so loud in his right ear that he almost didn’t feel the hot fingers pressing into his face, firmly connecting with his meld points.

“My mind to your mind,” Sovik began, their minds blending. Spock could now discern the pace of Sovik’s heart, and the rushing waves of his pon farr drowning him in discomfort.

And then, Spock felt himself in the darkness. As he moved he realized he was in his own mind, drawn by a darker force along the landscapes of his bruised and tattered consciousness, unable to stop.

When they finally reached an area of tenderness and comfort, Spock could see the light of his bond with Jim, casting shadows behind him as he approached it, leaving Sovik’s presence far behind him.

“Jim!” Spock caught the orb again, drawing it closer to his chest. He poked his nose into the light, ignoring Sovik’s approach. “ _Jim_ ,” he whispered softly, almost as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

The dark hands came from behind Spock on either side, gripping and clawing their way up his arms. He could feel the scratches like thorns raking down his temporal lobes.

“ _Jim,_ ” Sovik echoed, sounding much more distant than he should have. Spock ignored the sound, dropped to the ground, and hugged the burning light against his body, shielding it from the creeping darkness of Sovik’s soul.

He was unwilling to let go.

“Show me, Spock!” Sovik yelled, voice carrying like thunder across his mind. “Show me now!”

Spock did not move a muscle. His arms hugged the trembling bond in his hands. It shivered and shook, becoming stiff and rigid in his hands.

Sovik’s presence circled him, cool gusts of wind following his movements, yet Spock could not see him. It was nothing but pure and utter darkness. Nothing but him and the t’hy’la bond existed at this point in time.

Familiar fingers pulled on Spock’s hair, pinching his flesh over his arms and trying to pull him off what he was concealing under his body.

“STOP!” Spock screamed, pressing his face into the warmth of the bond, closing his eyes as he felt images and memories of Jim’s voice coming through to him, taking comfort in the familiar cadence.

_“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be strong just because of me.”_

_“There’s so much I have to tell you, and I should have told you a long time ago.”_

_“I think I love you.”_

_“You can stay in my quarters, but you won’t be sleeping on the couch. You’ll be sleeping on the bed.”_

_“I love you, Spock!”_

_"Unforgettable, in every way. And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay.”_

_“You make me crazy.”_

_“I’ll walk you to your quarters.”_

_“How’s your hand.”_

_“Are you cold?”_

_“Like a song of love that clings to me. How the thought of you does things to me. Never before, has someone been more.”_

_“Do not, and I don’t care if you are going to report this or not…do not lay a hand on my first officer without his permission. In fact, do not lay a hand on any of my crew members without their permission. Do I make myself clear?”_

Spock’s eyes opened wide, the memory of Jim’s voice strong in his ears. Those words, that tone, everything about Jim’s voice offered some sense of stability in his crumbling universe. He felt his heart rushing forward, slamming against his side.

Beyond the sound of Jim’s voice, the words had been enough for Spock. Jim had loved Spock for a long time. Jim had loved him this entire time, and Spock had been ignorant to ignore it. He had been selfish to hide away from such strong affection…affection he so dearly wanted.

Sovik was not right. Sovik was the liar. He had told him countless times how no one could ever love him, and that neither Vulcan nor Earth could cherish him like he did. And now Spock could bring some sense to his aching mind. Perhaps the galaxy would never fully accept him or be drawn to him…but Spock didn’t need the approval of the galaxy when his universe was rooted in Jim.

In them.

Suddenly, Sovik had a hold of Spock’s jaw. He yanked it up, revealing the t’hy’la bond beneath Spock’s arms. An aura of evil satisfaction surrounded Spock,. Sovik had found what he had been searching for.

He wanted to break the bond. He wanted to kill it and rid Spock of any obligatory ties to Jim. He wanted to amputate Jim’s connection to him as one would amputate a leg.

But Spock would choose Jim over his leg. That much was certain.

“I’ve been waiting for this…” Sovik snarled, dark fingers reaching for the orb in Spock’s arms.

Suddenly the t’hy’la bond erupted into flames, as if gasoline had doused them. It grew and leaned in Sovik’s direction, scorning the older Vulcan’s mind in the process. Its light was an extravagant shade of blue and gold. It was so high Spock had to lean back to avoid the blinding force of it. He brought his hand up to protect his eyes.

A scream broke out in the confines of Spock’s consciousness, as Sovik was tossed back and the flames dwindled into a serene blaze in Spock’s hands.

He held it placidly in his fingers, inspecting it and marveling at how warm it felt, and yet, how it never burned. There were no blisters from the heat, no flinching from the impact of it. Spock simply rolled it across his digits.

Why? How had Jim managed to do this? How had the bond suddenly burst into this hectic flame right in his palms? It was almost as though Jim’s mind was attacking Sovik through his. And yet, it seemed so remarkably unlikely in reality…but it had happened, and Spock couldn’t help but bury his face into it soothingly.

But then it was gone. Spock could suddenly feel his toes again, his fingers knotted into the material of Sovik’s elegant tunic. He could feel the heavy breaths from Sovik’s mouth against his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sovik ripping away at the material over Spock’s body, successfully tearing the seam from his shoulder down his arm.

“ _Sovik_ ,” Spock grunted, feeling Sovik’s hard erection driving against the fabric covering his thigh.

“I will not let him have you! We are to be bonded! You will come to Vulcan with me!” Sovik screamed, yanking and pulling on Spock’s clothing.

Spock’s hand came off the desk beneath him and he rammed his closed fist into Sovik’s jaw, causing him to sputter, but his hands still diligently tugged on the fabric of Spock’s pants. But it was not an easy endeavor because Spock was beginning to thrash and kick at Sovik’s body.

“No!” Spock yelled, trying to keep his legs together while also driving them into Sovik’s chest.

“Remove your clothes or I will break your neck!” Sovik shouted down at Spock, trying desperately to turn him around so that he was bent over the desk. “I will take your life right here, Spock…I am not afraid.”

Spock closed his eyes tightly, bringing his leg up to pry their bodies apart. His attempt was used against him when Sovik held onto his ankle, successfully turning him over.

It was difficult, but in this new position Spock could only thrust his head back into Sovik’s, hoping to knock the Vulcan backward with his newfound strength. “Do not touch me!” Spock shouted back, turning his head slightly to see the animalistic glare on Sovik’s face.

Using Spock’s body, Sovik rammed his hips forward, clearing objects off of the desk, making room to shove him on top of it. Spock could hear his PADD fall to the floor, the screen cracking as it impacted the ground harshly on its corner.

Sovik was thrusting against Spock’s pants, trying to simultaneously remove his erection from its entrapment while also working on holding Spock in place. He behaved irrationally, acted without giving clear, logical thought. He simply reacted on instincts, and instincts alone. It was like he needed to claim Spock, mark him, fill him, do _something_ to rid himself of the blasted fever, while also showing the captain his place.

However, Spock was making it _very_ difficult.

Looking along the desk, Sovik found Spock’s tricorder, shaking with every thrust of Sovik’s hips. With his member fully out in the open, he used his now free hand to take a hold of the device, but something new caught his eyes.

A black box.

As he opened the lid, Spock stilled in his attempt at freedom. They both remained silent for a moment, Sovik’s teeth grinding together as he looked down at the long tricorder strap laced through an old style ring. The large diamond in the center was facing up, light rays bouncing off of Sovik’s face. He snarled at the gift, tearing it out of the box.

The struggle picked up again, Spock moved with even more fervor as he tried to escape the mounting anger coming off of Sovik like a tidal wave.

“Perhaps you are having trouble with commands, _Mister_ Spock…” Sovik growled, imitating Jim as he started ripping the strap where it was knotted together, making it into a single strip instead of a loop. He tightened it in both hands bringing it over Spock’s head. “However, maybe you will become more useful to me in a more unconscious state.”

Spock’s eyes widened, and he tried to buck the heated Vulcan off of him. He knew what was coming, but before he could argue he felt something tightening around his throat.

-

 

Jim’s expression went from deep concern to stone cold. His eyes peered over at Rebecca standing before a large glass window, arms crossed over her chest securely.

As sure of herself as she appeared, the woman was fumbling. Her lips were shaking, eyes dripping tears, and her fingers clutched at her sides protectively. This was not a woman who was bearing good news.

“ _Jim, there’s something you need to know,”_ Rebecca had said moments ago, driving Jim’s heart into an inexplicable uncontrollable pounding. He nervously clenched his fists, sweat formulating and causing him to release them, allowing them to relax and the edge of the bench.He wasn’t sure why he was reacting this way; keeping a calm head was something he’d become known for and what made him so suitable for the role of captain. But there was something in the tone of her voice that shook him, especially after what he had just spoken.  

“What is it?” Jim asked, looking up from his hands at the woman standing before him, with her head now hanging, palms covering her face.

Jim stood up, approaching Rebecca with slight caution, but still a tenderness he could only offer to someone who was hurt as Rebecca was at the moment. He brought his hand to her arm, coaxing her into turning to face him.

She turned her head away, tightening her embrace around her arms. She could not manage to look him in the eyes. What she was about to say was going to hurt him; it was obvious by the way Rebecca was now holding back anguished cries.

“Rebecca,” Jim stressed, viciously turning her body to face him. Her eyes shot back to him, fear and hopelessness evident in her expression. Tears were steadily making their way down her cheeks. “Tell me, Rebecca. What do I need to know?”

A sputtering noise came as a reply, Rebecca turned her head away again only to be caught by one of Jim’s fingers bringing it back around. “Is my ship in danger? Is any of my crew in danger?”

Her eyes connected with his for a brief moment, and yet, she did not answer. She looked guilty, and...regretful.

A protective fire burned in Jim’s belly, hands tightening over her shoulders. “You have to tell me, Rebecca.”

“Captain…” she spoke clearly and somewhat loudly, but still not loud enough to really bring Jim away from the fury he felt at the moment. “It’s … it’s Sovik,” she whispered, eyes falling to the floor.

Spock.

That was all Jim could think of at that moment. Everything was beginning to feel like something out of a mystery novel—a sad, disgusting, poorly written mystery novel. It seemed that all the evidence was coming in, and Jim was starting to solidify his vendetta against the Vulcan guest. Spock’s health condition, his closed off presence...things were beginning to add up.

Add up to what though? Jim was uncertain. At the moment, he could only decide that where Sovik was concerned, Spock was.

“What about Sovik?” Jim stressed his tone, giving Rebecca a gentle shake to emphasize his words. “What did Sovik do?”

Rebecca closed her eyes again, as though she were recapping the events of Sovik’s apparent agressions in her head. Her eyes flinched as she uncovered truths that caused her stomach to turn… disgusting truths about Sovik, Spock, and herself.

“Jim, it wasn’t you who destroyed the For-weinvaksur!” She blurted out, opened her eyes wide, and allowed the tears to flow as freely as her words. “It was Sovik! He ripped the entire plant to shreds! He… he’s not well, Captain! He’s done things that he shouldn’t have, but it’s not his fault! He will be better! I promise! I’ll make him better… I’ll…. I’ll…” She sobbed into her palms, soaking her fingers with her tears. Jim watched as her shoulders heaved heaved with every forced breath.

“Wait.” Jim interrupted, trying to pull her hands apart as he continued speaking, “What do you  mean? Explain yourself, Ms. Durrell.”

Her hands parted under Jim’s force, her eyes finally becoming exposed and looking like glass against the synthetic lights overhead. She blinked slowly and took a deep breath, cheeks going a deep red.

“Sovik is going through something unpleasant. He started acting this way back on Stronos.” She explained, moving to sit down on the bench, rubbing the tears off her cheeks as she spoke. “He …he started acting irrationally and aggressive, almost as if he had contracted the disease of an animal, but it’s not getting better, it’s getting worse...” She sobbed, her lips shaking.

“Is he hurting my crew?” Jim interrupted, heart beating so heavy he was afraid she would be able to see it through his shirt. He wanted to know everything that was happening within Sovik, and the history of what had actually transpired on that planet, but first things first. He needed to know if his ship was in danger.

She swallowed hard. “He’s already hurt your crew.” She cried, pathetically closing her eyes as she recapped the events in her head.

Jim’s eyes widened. He stepped closer to Rebecca, his prior respect for her slowly fading as he heard her speaking.

“Jim, you don’t understand though… he’s a remarkable man, he...” She argued her tone much more confident now than it had been before.

“You just told me that my crew was in danger because this man!” Jim snapped, becoming more forward in his approach. “I want to know what he’s doing, I want to know why he’s doing it, who he’s doing it to, and why this is just coming out now!”

Rebecca quickly glanced up at Jim, hurrying her eyes away when the power of Jim’s stare was too much for her to hold. However, she didn’t get too far without Jim moving his body into her line of vision, kneeling down in front of her to try and intensify the situation.

“Rebecca.” He spoke calmer now, “I _need_ to know.”

She drew a long breath in, Jim’s heart an uncontrollable organ in his chest.

Though it was never explicitly stated, Jim knew _who_ she was speaking of. It was now painfully obvious. The way Sovik’s eyes followed Spock, the way he constantly called for him in his lab… the sick infatuation he had for his first officer. Jim shuddered inside.

“Jim,” She drew in a breath this time, holding it in her lungs as though the air was forming the words for her. “It’s Spock.” The word had taken all the air out of her, and she was yet again clenching her eyes shut, tears rolling off her cheeks.

“What!” Jim tried to get her to continue, “What happened to Spock? What did Sovik do to Spock?”

“Jim…” She opened her eyes to look up at Jim. Her cheeks began to glow a deep pink colour. “He… he…”

The words were not coming out as Rebecca visibly struggled with what she was about to say.

“What? He did what?” Jim sounded almost frantic. He grabbed a hold of Rebecca’s knees, squeezing them. “ _Rebecca_.”

“Sovik took… he took from him.” She tried to hint, avoiding Jim’s eyes as she felt shame bubbling up her stomach and into her throat. Jim was still at a loss for words, unsure what precisely she was getting at.

“Took? Took what?!” Jim urged, trying to catch her eyes again.

When she didn’t answer, Jim tightened his hands on her knees, one hand reaching up to coax her chin into his direction again. “Rebecca… you have to tell me what he did to Spock. He might have done something that could end up killing him.”

The room was dead silent again, and Jim’s pulse was going a mile a minute as he looked into her grief-stricken eyes. He felt an urge to wipe them off, to tell her that everything would be alright once she told him… but he fought the urge.

He felt like he was at the butt of a really distasteful joke. He felt like the entire time they had been transporting these _guests_ , he had been the victim of something horrendous, and he wasn’t amused. The urge to assist Rebecca was gone; she had hidden so much from him, and he was not willing to give her the benefit of the doubt… not now.

“Sovik.” She paused, a choppy breath escaping her. “He _raped_ Spock.”

Silence.

A long, jagged knife to the chest would have hurt less than the news Jim had just received. A long, jagged knife would leave less scars and could easily be repaired and tended to. No… this hurt so much more.

His hands slipped away from Rebecca as he stumbled back, retreating to the window they had just been looking out of moments ago. His eyes gazed toward the floor, facing Rebecca, but almost forgetting her existence all together.

The memory of entering Spock’s dimly lit room, days ago, came barreling painfully into his mind. The way Spock had pressed himself against the wall fearfully, the way he requested Jim to leave his room, and the way he came back to Jim’s quarters and actually asked to take shelter in Jim’s room, on his sofa.

He remembered the following morning, Spock’s fear of Jim standing by his side. The way he nearly sprang from the bed to leave his quarters. It was odd behavior from the Spock he had known for over three years now… but it wasn’t odd behavior given the circumstances.

He hit the back wall, feeling himself becoming breathless as he considered the hurt that Spock had gone through right under his nose. How blind was Jim to all this pain? Why could he not see that Spock was screaming for help in his very Vulcan way?

A headache sprang into his head, almost blurring his vision as it speared through him like an arrow to his temple. He brought his hand up to cradle it for a moment, then began carding his fingers through his hair in frustration, ready to pull the strands out there and throw them onto the woman sitting on the bench.

And why was Rebecca even crying? How dare she weep over something she had days to mull over. How dare she pretend like Spock’s suffering meant anything to her when she did nothing to bring it to his attention earlier? Clearly, she knew of Sovik’s apparent ‘ _condition’_ well before boarding his ship.

Furthermore, how could she do it to Spock? How could either of them do this to Spock? From everyone on the Enterprise, Spock had been the only one who truly cared for their project, cared for their comfort, and did anything possible to go above and beyond his duty to ensure all these things.

Jim shuddered. Well over above and beyond.

“Why…” Jim huffed out, not consciously thinking to speak, but doing so anyways. “How…?”

Rebecca raised her head up to look at Jim, her eyes full of tears. “Why and how what?” She questioned quietly.

Jim broadened his shoulders, his gaze finally lifting from the floor to look at Rebecca’s guilty appearance. He didn’t trust it for a moment. He couldn’t.

“You thought this important just now? You didn’t think to share Sovik’s problem before boarding my ship? Before destroying my first officer?” Jim stuttered over his anger. He couldn’t look the woman too long in the eyes. She physically made him ill. Jim felt physically ill to his stomach.

She stood up quickly approaching Jim, “No, no… Jim, I thought about it! I wanted to but I…”

“But you couldn’t. Because Spock wasn’t going to say anything,” Jim offered, knowing somewhere in his head he was right. The look of remorse suggesting it also. Of _course_ she was remorseful; she had been pushed into a corner, forced to reveal the truth.

There was only silence from Rebecca.

“You couldn’t because you knew that you would only be on this ship a short time. Spock would just be someone who would come in and out of your little world. You wouldn’t have to see the aftermath of what Sovik did. You wouldn’t have to see him shaking in fear in his quarters like I did,” Jim spat out, holding back the need to yell and throw his fist into something to equalize the grief and anger he was feeling. He did not lash out in this way. He simply looked at Rebecca with squinting eyes of disgust.

Again, he was only met with silence.

“You didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to carry the burden with you.” Jim realized his hands were out before him clenched in fists as though he were about to snap something. His knuckles became white with stiffness.

“I didn’t because I cared about…” Rebecca began, once again cut off by Jim’s accusations.

“You cared?” Jim repeated humorously. “You cared for who? Yourself? Joseph? Sovik? Your career?” Jim shook his head, stepping aside. “Anybody and everybody except for Spock. Because you _couldn’t_ bear to acknowledge his pain.”

“No!” Rebecca argued loudly. “That’s not true! You don’t understand, Captain! I did it for everybody’s safety!”

“You put my first officer in danger!” Jim shouted back, successfully silencing the woman. Carefully, he calmed himself as he stared into her enlarged eyes. “ _You_ hurt Spock.”

She clenched her jaw, ready to rebut when she visibly calmed, feeling Jim’s words echoing in her mind. Jim could tell by the way she slowly closed her eyes that she was considering Jim’s words.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” She bowed her head, tears spilling once again.

Jim shook his head, making a brisk trek over to the intercom on the wall. “Kirk to bridge.” Jim cleared his throat, biting his lip as he waited the reply. He didn’t want to let Uhura know the state he was in.

“ _Bridge here, Captain_ ,” Uhura replied moments after.

“No! Captain! Don’t!” Rebecca leaped out grabbing hold of Jim’s arm and pulling him back with a great amount of force, one Jim wasn’t initially expecting from her.

Jim’s eyes shot to her, his brows raised in confusion yet his eyes looked down at her hand in disgust. “What are you--”

“You can’t tell anybody else captain!” She cried out groping his shirt desperately. “They’re going to take it all away! They’re going to hurt him and … and take him away!” She bawled into his chest moments later, staining his breast with her traitorous tears.

He gripped her by the shoulders, ripping her away from his body roughly, his thumbs digging into her arms tightly. “ _This_ is what I’m talking about,” Jim spoke with remarkable calm, yet through his teeth to indicate speaking to her was something of a chore. “Spock is out there vulnerable, alone, in danger of another attack, and in _pain_.” Jim looked over her face, holding her shoulders in place so he could look directly into them. “But you don’t want me to because you’re afraid what will happen to _Sovik_?”

Her breath was caught, her eyes looking over Jim’s face wildly as she tried to form some sort of coherent sentence that would say exactly what she was feeling.

“You don’t… understand,” Rebecca breathed out, her heart aching as she tried to release Jim’s shirt from her hands.

“You’ll have time to explain yourself once I make sure Sovik is detained.”

 _“Bridge to Captain Kirk. Come in, Captain.”_ The intercom started up again, Uhura’s tone strong and confident, yet laced with a hint of concern. “ _Please respond.”_

Jim lightly pushed Rebecca away from himself, stepping closer to the intercom, “Lieutenant, have three guards report to recreational room A on deck twenty,” Jim commanded, his breath becoming heavier and heavier. “They are to capture and detain Doctor Sovik.”

There was a lengthy pause on the other end. Jim had no doubts Uhura was contemplating whether or not she had heard correctly. To capture and detail one of the Enterprises’ honorary guests was unthinkable, especially for those as imperative as the RU-598 group with their project. It was so essential to the Federation to receive these people and their Renneral.

“That’s right, Lieutenant,” Jim read her silence and reassured, “Three guards to recreational room A on deck twenty to capture and detain Doctor Sovik. Kirk out.”

When he turned back to Rebecca, her brows were lowered bitterly, her hands clenched at her sides. “You don’t understand,” she repeated.

“What’s there for me to understand?” Jim barked back. “Sovik’s hurt Spock, and I need to make sure Sovik doesn’t hurt him again, or anybody else. I don’t see what else there is to understand.”

Rebecca lunged forward again, ready to grab hold of Jim’s shirt, but she hesitated and pulled back. Her eyes studied Jim’s cold expression.

Before she could argue any further, Jim headed for the door again, wanting to turn to say something to the woman, but figuring what he wished to speak was better left unsaid. He could try and make Rebecca realize what she had done was sinister, unforgivable, and undoubtedly unforgettable for both him and Spock.

Jim sighed as he reached the doorway. He felt a compelling need to rush to Spock’s quarters again. He didn’t want to have to face Sovik just yet. The only thing running through his mind was what he was going to say to Spock… how he was going to show him that everything would be alright.

Though the thought was tempting, Jim knew he had to deal with the threat directly first. He knew that Sovik had been in the recreational room moments ago, and so Jim began moving into its direction, ignoring Rebecca’s pleas as he left.

He wanted to comfort Spock, to draw him into an embrace that nobody, not even Sovik, could break. He wanted to show Spock that all the chaos that Sovik had caused was not his fault.

And yet, Jim was afraid to look in Spock’s eyes. He was afraid to be able to put a face to Spock’s ill symptoms. To know that Sovik had done disgraceful, disgusting things to his beloved Spock, and yet Jim didn’t do a single thing to stop it. Even with all its blaring signs, Jim had done nothing to stop it.

Spock’s eyes had said everything the morning Jim returned from sickbay with the concussion. The way Spock had avoided his gaze from that day forth should have been the point when Jim knew what had happened. Yet, he was completely oblivious to Spock’s hurt. He should have done more, pushed more, said more… instead, Jim was more concerned over what Spock was _feeling_ for him and respecting his vulcan heritage.

He felt like a child. Spock had been so bruised, so broken in front of him, and he didn’t press hard enough. He saw these signs, he saw the hurt and yet he believed Spock when he said he required meditation. He believed those lies used to cover up the truth.

Jim believed him.

 _‘Focus_.’ Jim told himself, trying to realign his aching mind on the task at hand. ‘ _Deal with Sovik first. Go see the guards who have Sovik now. Deal with your apologies later.’_

Jim couldn’t even imagine the rage he would feel when he saw Sovik for the first time after the discovery. He couldn’t comprehend how angry he would become until the moment came. What would he say? What would he do? Would he be able to handle the mix of anger and grief he was feeling over his best friend’s torment?

He felt thankful for the training he had received through the Academy all those years ago which had taught him to keep irrational emotions out of the equation while he dealt with priorities. Things that would be the best whether it felt right or not. He knew how one awkward blip in his decisions could possibly affect things--just as he had witnessed all those years ago under Garrovick’s command.

He would have to deal with Sovik first.

Finally, he reached the recreational room, a few ensigns standing out front the door with two of the guards Jim had sent for. When he approached the huddle, he noticed another one of the guards searching through the room. Janice and Riley both stood by the doorway, looking back at Jim with growing concern.

“Captain!” Janice greeted, clearing a pathway for Jim to walk into the room. Jim acknowledged her with his eyes, giving her a small nod.

“Where’s Sovik?” Jim asked, looking across the space from which his security member had returned after searching. All of his usual charm and grace were absent.

“He’s not here, Sir.” The officer replied, shrugging his shoulders. “He was leaving when we got here. He’s not in the room, I checked myself.”

Jim pursed his lips together, bringing them into a pout as he considered his next move.

“He left, Captain,” Janice informed from behind Jim. “Lieutenant Riley and I _saw_ him leave.”

“He left?” Jim repeated, approaching her. “Which way? Did he say anything?”

Riley took a deep breath in, looking over to Janice as they both replayed the scene in their heads. “I think he went that way, over there.” Riley pointed down the hall. “But he didn’t say a word, Captain.”

Jim nodded. “Likely,” he grumbled under his breath. “Alright then, I want you three,” he motioned to the guards, “Search the entire deck for him. Contact me on my communicator if you locate him.”

“Aye, Sir,” the officers replied, waiting to be officially dismissed before filing out and heading down the halls, searching the entire deck.

Jim approached the intercom on the wall, “Kirk to bridge.”

 _“Bridge here, Captain. Did you locate Doctor Sovik?”_ Uhura asked.

“No, Lieutenant. I need you to make a ship wide comm contacting Doctor Sovik. Then I need you to put all available staff on alert. We _must_ have him detained,” Jim explained, clenching his fist against the wall.

Riley and Janice watched as Jim closed the line, his head bowing down, forehead pressed to the wall as he closed his eyes and began rubbing his fingers over them soothingly. They watched for a moment as Jim continued to massage his forehead and eyes, looking completely exhausted and yet sparking with heated fury.

“Captain, is everything alright?” Janice asked, taking a step into the room to try and comfort him.

Jim turned his head quickly in her direction. He straightened his back, eyes red from the way he’d been rubbing them. “I’m fine.”

“Why is Sovik being…” Riley began to question until Jim cut him off, busily moving toward the door.

“I’ll have to answer that later, Lieutenant. Excuse me,” Jim mumbled. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”

And there was. There was a burning sensation deep in the pit of Jim’s stomach telling him he knew exactly where Sovik was. Part of Jim felt as though it were all his fault.

When he had seen Sovik in the hall earlier, he could tell there was a dark presence looming over him. He appeared agitated, bothered even by seeing Jim. Almost as if Jim visiting Spock with the chessboard was a challenge to him. Now with everything Jim knew, he could tell it was partially just that… a challenge.

It was obvious to Jim where Sovik was. If he was not to be located in the labs, on deck twenty, or in his cabin, then Jim knew exactly where he would be.

It started with a casual pace, slow steps toward the lift. The closer he got the quicker his stride, one he usually reserved for when the klaxons sounded. As far as he was concerned, this _was_ a red alert, and everyone else needed to get out of his way. Nothing could stop him. He had to make it to Spock’s quarters now before anything else could happen.

He would.

-

 

No air. There was no air entering or leaving Spock’s lungs.

His mouth struggled to form the words _stop._ He couldn’t manage to bring his hands up to grope the bind around his neck. He felt like dead weight lying against the table.

At this point, one of Sovik’s hands had a tight hold over the strap around Spock’s neck, the other slipping his pants over his bruised backside. All the while Sovik’s hips never stopped, they were a continuous pounding against his body, pinching the muscles in Spock’s lower back from his awkward positioning.

However, none of that mattered at the moment. All that mattered was survival, and the tricorder strap wrapped maliciously around his neck was standing in the way of that.

Sovik’s hardening member was already jutting out from the opening in his pants. He allowed for it to rub against Spock’s posterior with his powerful thrusts, smearing precome between the cleft.

The strap loosened for a moment and Spock took in a deep breath of air, quickly bringing his fingers under the hot material around his throat and began pulling it up over his chin. He was still entirely breathless, but knew that this might be the only chance he had at wriggling free.

It hurt. The strap was beginning to tighten, trapping his fingers under it and slowly cutting the circulation off. He felt the tips of his sensitive digits burning and then Sovik began speaking once more.

“Do not make this more difficult than it has to be,” Sovik grunted, driving his erection harder between their bodies. Spock felt himself shiver without consciously deciding so.

Sovik’s right hand came around Spock’s head and straightened out the tightening strap around his jaw, bringing it up until Spock could feel it pulling against his opened mouth.

“You insist on acting like an animal,” Sovik growled, yanking back like he was pulling the reigns on a horse. “Then I shall treat you as such.”

It was intensely painful, the thick strap guaranteeing his mouth to stay wide open. He tried chomping down, but it would not break. The awkward positioning made it so that he couldn’t get a good hold of it. It was wedged so far in the back of his teeth and constantly chafing against the sides of his mouth.

“Yes, Spock,” Sovik moaned into the pointed ear, a dribble of semen escaping his aroused genitals which were pressed against his lower back.

Sovik’s fingers traced over the soiled spots of his back, and Spock could feel the way they slid against his skin, a thick layer of Sovik’s lubricant making the endeavor much easier. Spock closed his eyes, feeling his jaw painfully lock as Sovik ran his fingers against his clenched hole.

“Submit!” Sovik screamed into his ear, causing Spock to shrivel at the sound. He was thoroughly thrown off by the way Sovik was in one instant, and then how he was able to change entirely in the next. It must have been a symptom of the pon farr. All rational decisions and even emotions themselves were completely on hold while instinct took over the entire body soul and mind.

As Spock pondered the idea, another question was raised in his mind. Why was Sovik’s condition becoming rapidly more severe with each hour instead of better? As soon as Sovik had entered his quarters Spock knew that he was hard and ready. Sovik’s mind was scorching with the blood fever, and yet he had been given much time to gradually simmer. He never did, though. Sovik always came back for more.

Spock tried to turn his head, which apparently pleased Sovik as he forced it further to the side, connecting his lips against the corner of Spock’s mouth where the strap was painfully pressed against. He dragged his teeth along the smooth skin over Spock’s cheek bone and then continued to bring it down around to the back of his neck where he covered it with nips and bites.

“You are mine, Spock! You will always be mine.”

Spock closed his eyes, trying to drop his head, but it was held firmly in place. He began to slump from exhaustion when he felt a familiar pressure on his posterior, Sovik’s semen coated finger roughly being inserted into his body. He tensed painfully, accidently clenching the muscles, trying and stop Sovik. It was no use, however Sovik continued jabbing his finger forward and back, impatiently trying to prepare him.

Spock desperately began throwing sounds around, trying to get Sovik to stop what he was doing. He tried to speak, but each word was contorted by the blockage in his mouth. His jaw once again spasmed with pain.

“Enough!” Sovik boomed above him, removing the strap. He then removed his finger, allowing it to slip out of Spock’s aching channel and he brought both his hands too tightly grip Spock’s hips.

Even though Sovik sounded as though he wished to do something, his body reacted differently. Sovik was once against thrusting himself against Spock’s rear.

With his mouth free, Spock cleared his throat and began to speak again, “Sovik, please! Cease this at once!”

The thrusting became erratic and suddenly Spock felt Sovik guiding his strained erection to his entrance. Spock couldn’t have this again. Not when he was expecting Jim’s company.

What would Jim think if he were to see what he had become? What would Jim say or do to Spock if he learned how filthy he was now? How impure and disgusting his body now was. Jim deserved better than this. He deserved someone who could fight Sovik off and feel proud in who he was. But there was nothing left of himself to feel proud of. He was nobody anymore.

Pain exploded behind him and Spock was once again moving his body with instinct, trying anything to get away from Sovik. He could no longer control his human emotions, and he felt them spill out onto the desk.

Burning hot tears running down his face, his hip bones smacking against the desk. He couldn’t move forward, he certainly could not move back, and with Sovik’s hands holding him in place he couldn’t make a run for it on either side of himself. He literally had himself cornered.

Then Spock felt his leg move, reminding himself that his body was still somewhat his own. He could still move his fingers, his toes, his lips. And with that, Spock swung his leg backwards, hitting Sovik directly above the kneecap.

Sovik snarled in pain and pleasure. His hips quickening. He ran his hands over the pants covering Spock’s thighs, and he held tightly onto them, as though Spock had never hit him.

He tried it again only this time he caught Sovik below the knee and it seemed to have done the trick. One of Sovik’s hands had moved from its previous spot on Spock’s hip, allowing him to remove Sovik from his body and move over to the side, out from under his attacker.

“Spock!” Sovik yelled, following him, lashing out for Spock like a wild animal. Spock moved back in fear, reaching out himself for the intercom on his wall.

Before he could even brush his fingers against it, Sovik had Spock caught around the waist and pulled him to the ground with a bang.

Spock’s head slammed against the floor, his vision white for a moment, until he finally saw Sovik looking down at him, the strap in his hands once again. He brought it around Spock’s head.

“Your own betrothed didn’t desire you! Your parents abandoned you! Your captain will not want you when he knows what you have done!” Sovik gritted his teeth. “Nobody will miss you when they find your cold dead body.” Sovik curled his lips in disgust. “You’ll be more useful that way.”

He pushed his hips between Spock’s legs, but Spock was not willing to let up. He crashed his hand under Sovik’s jaw, but even that would not stop him. He continued bringing the tricorder strap around his throat, pulling tightly when he had it in position.

“If you will not be my mate, you will be nobody’s!” Sovik demanded.

It was hard for Spock to gauge his surroundings. Sovik’s voice was so distant… so mysterious and foreign. The longer Sovik held the strap there, the more strained his eyes became, feeling as though they were going to burst from their sockets and roll across the floor. His head was banging from the pressure and soon after he felt Sovik’s teeth biting hard onto his bottom lip, possibly drawing blood.

The assault carried on, his body being tossed and battered, and yet, Spock couldn’t feel a thing. His mind was in such agony and his body becoming colder as the circulation of oxygen through his respiratory system ceased. His internal controls desperately attempted to make up for the lack of oxygen, but nothing seemed to have any effect.

He felt himself fading, his neck growing more and more sore as Sovik continued to intensify the attack.

His mind and body, battling on the verge of reality and unconsciousness, death slowly following. Spock wanted to fight, to allow himself dignity in his passing, but there was no way he could even open an eye.

It was disturbing, knowing exactly how he was going to die. He had always assumed he would meet his maker further down the road on some away mission, hopefully in sacrifice for his duty. But no. He should not have thought so highly of himself. He was going to lose his life right there in his cabin, raped, beaten, and suffocated with an old tricorder strap tied around his throat.

Who would have known.

Murdered. He was being murdered, and though Spock was fearing the end of his life so suddenly, he couldn’t help but feel his mind wandering, visualizing something so much more pleasant.

“ _Come.”_ Spock remembered saying in a memory he hadn’t recalled in over two years. He remembered he had been sitting at the very desk Sovik had just thrown him on moments ago.

Jim had been standing in the doorway, a forced smile plastered over his lips. And at the time, Spock was certain he knew why there was this false expression of happiness. He knew, yet he did not understand.

“ _Spock.”_ Jim had greeted calmly, his smile had faded into something much more sincere. His brows turned slightly in concern, his eyes looking at him with a hint of fear. _“How are you feeling?”_

“ _I do not understand the question,”_ Spock had replied, tilting his head as Jim had approached him, clearing the space between them until he was standing at Spock’s right side.

“ _Let me rephrase.”_ Jim’s laugh was greatly therapeutic in the moment as he felt the images of his recollections coming to the forefront.

“ _How are you doing? I mean, we almost lost you back there.”_ Jim’s voice had dripped with concern. Spock had not yet had a full understanding of the emotion, and yet he continued with the captain as though he had.

“ _Adequate,_ ” Spock replied, his hands met over his lap as he peered at Jim’s hazel eyes.

“ _That’s good.That’s good.”_ Jim had nodded, running his fingers through his hair. _“I just wanted to tell you I was really worried about you.”_

Spock had nodded his head as he watched Jim. “ _Yes, it would have been unfortunate to lose an officer with my qualifications,”_ Spock had replied.

 _“And even more unfortunate to lose a good friend,”_ Jim had said, and those words reverberated in Spock’s current consciousness.

 _‘And even more unfortunate to lose a good friend_.’

‘ _A good friend.’_

He didn’t want to die, if only for that simple fact… that simple feeling he shared with Jim. To lose his life would leave Jim alone.

It was not that Jim wouldn’t be able to continue with his life without him there… but things would be significantly different. Who would Jim play chess with every night? Who would advise him against all the irrational, human decisions he made day in and day out in his personal as well as his professional life?

It was illogical. It was emotional, but Spock felt a tightening in his side that indicated another emotion he hadn’t experienced before… regret. Regret for not letting Jim in. Regret for never finding that equal balance between human and Vulcan. Regret for having not heard from his parents in years. A regret that he would not be able to spend the rest of his life at Jim’s side and see the man learn and grow.

Regret.

A particular emotion he was not fond of. And even in his dying breaths Spock felt his scientific curiosity flourishing as he was fascinated by the process of death. It was true what the old Terran philosophers had said… ‘In death one’s life flashes before their eyes.’

His body no longer moved or flinched. He was officially dead weight. There had been no time to shift his katra to another. There was no time to say the things he needed to say to the people he cared about. To Jim, to the good doctor, to his fellow crew members.

In his mind’s eye he saw the t’hy’la bond slowly dimming… slowly flickering like a fading candle.

“ _Goodbye, Jim.”_

Then, the tightness around his neck was no longer present, and Spock felt his body heaving and struggling for the intake of air. His lungs could not move fast enough, his mouth taking cheeks full of air. He ended up sputtering and crying from the pressure in his chest. It was strange how moments ago he _needed_ air, and yet it was almost as though he didn’t know what to do with it now that he had it.

Suddenly the weight on top of him became lighter, his hips still working furiously against his clothed legs. As he began to take in his surroundings again, he began to see blurred images growing clearer and clearer by the minute… and then he saw it. His heart pounded with shame and excitement all in one.

There in the doorway stood James T. Kirk. At last.

-

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I hope that was satisfying! <3 
> 
> I would love to hear what everyone's thinking so far, predictions, as well what people would like to see from the comfort portion of this story. <3 If you would like to send something to me anonymously or personally, you can send me an email at iamcemxox@gmail.com OR feel free to follow me on tumblr [here](http://i-am-cem.tumblr.com/) ! I'm always looking to find more blogs to follow and more ppl to chat with <3 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all liked the chapter. Thanks again to Yesiker for the amazing art!! 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper friends!!! <333 Have an incredible weekend!


	17. Auguries Of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to plaidshirtjimkirk who editted the entire thing for me yesterday super fast! Idk what I would do without her. She has saved this story so many times, and I'm just so grateful to have her as a friend. She's a phenomenal writer, who inspires me with every story she writes, so if any of you are interested, please check out her [ AO3 account ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) , if you haven't done so already!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Violence and reference to non-con elements
> 
> PLEASE ENJOY!

**Auguries Of Innocence**

 

“ _Three guards to recreational room A on deck twenty to capture and detain Doctor Sovik. Kirk out.”_

McCoy couldn’t help but replay this comm call in his head over and over again, as if it were broadcasted right there in the halls he was walking through.

Was McCoy surprised? Not entirely so. Sovik had reeked of trouble the moment he stepped foot on the ship. He had been snarky, rude, insensitive and completely unpleasant as a guest. However, Jim had been correct with his concerns regarding Sovik. The evidence was in the death of the Fo-weinvaksur, the _attack_ Jim had been convinced he experienced, the way Sovik had an eerie attention to Spock and Spock alone. There was certainly something evil lurking beneath that thick skin, even more than to be expected from a Vulcan.

He almost snorted as he waited for the lift to stop on deck twenty. He brought his hands behind his back, bouncing on his heels as he considered the trouble Sovik would have to be in for such a reaction to come from the captain. A guest would have to do something pretty obscene to get this kind of treatment.

The lift finally stopped and McCoy continued walking. As he did so, a man wearing a regulation red shirt held his hand up to the doctor, halting him as he tried to pass.

“I’m sorry, this deck is being searched.” The guard explained, crossing his arms over his chest.

McCoy lowered his brows, his face becoming defensive. “I’m Doctor McCoy, CMO, now move aside, I need to talk to the Captain.”

“And I’m telling you you’re going to have to wait.” The guard countered. “I think he left with the rest of the people who were here, and went to deck twenty-one instead.” McCoy looked unmoving to the idea that he would be turned away.

“You _think_?” McCoy grumbled, looking down the hall at Rebecca, who was approaching with bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks were bright, stained with tears that made them appear shiny in the artificial light. Something terrible had happened here, McCoy could feel it in his bones.

“Rebecca?” He questioned, the guard sighing in frustration at the way McCoy had blatantly ignored his directions.

Rebecca’s eyes met with the doctor’s, then lowered to the floor again a moment later. She ran her hand nervously through her hair and returned them to being crossed over her chest timidly. “Doctor.” She greeted trying to move passed him.

“What the hell happened?” McCoy asked, the guard sighing again, this time with much more force.

McCoy gave the man a stern look, bringing his arm around the sobbing woman and leading her to the lift professionally. As they entered the lift, he gave her another look of concern, all his attention surrounding her once more.

“Sickbay.” He ordered the lift. Rebecca’s eyes were so distant and dark, he could have sworn she didn’t even know where she currently was at the moment.

They stood there like that for several moments, McCoy making mental notes of Rebecca’s behaviour and trying to piece together what exactly was going through her mind.  

“Rebecca…” McCoy began rubbing her back in small circles.

She wriggled his hand off of her, turning away from him, new tears running down her face. “Please, Doctor.” She sobbed, closing her eyes tightly.

McCoy found himself raising a brow, similar to the way Spock had done countless times. He considered Rebecca’s words, his mind trying to offer some kind of reasonable explanation for her sudden behavior. “What happened, Rebecca? I’m not here to bother you, I’m here to help you.”

“Well don’t!” She argued back, her head snapping in his direction. Their eyes met and McCoy raised both his brows in surprise.

“Dammit, woman,” McCoy barked back, pivoting his entire body to face hers, creating so much tension between them that she had to turn away to escape it. “If you aren’t going to tell me then I’m _going_ to get the answer from the captain or Commander Spock. I suggest you save us all a bit of time and just tell me what’s going on.”

Her eyes moved away, streams of tears falling. “Doctor… I’m begging you. You won’t understand even if I tried to tell you. It’s not even my business to be talking about it.”

“Then at least tell me what the captain is doing ordering security people after Sovik.” McCoy pressed..

“I don’t know what he’s doing, Doctor.” She insisted, as she unraveled her arms from over her chest, fidgeting with her fingers and nails instead.

“You know that’s a damn lie.” McCoy grumbled, “And I know it too. I need to know what’s going on Rebecca, especially if someone’s in danger.”

And though his words were seemingly harsh, he was absolutely calm. His tone was somehow comforting to Rebecca, especially given the way her last interaction happened with the captain.

“It’s just about Spock.” She mumbled, her eyes closed and avoiding McCoy’s.

McCoy was once again not surprised by the revelation, however his interest had piqued. After the tests he was running all morning regarding Spock’s blood and condition, he was interested in the idea that whatever had Jim chasing Sovik around the ship was due to some injustice against Spock.

A coincidence?

Beyond not being surprised but intrigued, there was something else McCoy was feeling that overwhelmed all other emotions.

Worry.

“What happened to Spock?” McCoy asked, his heart rate increasing little by little. He didn’t usually get so emotionally invested in his work; it was one of many skills a doctor _had_ to obtain over the years. He had to be able to detach himself from the patient and situation to perform his tasks with professionalism. If he got too emotional or attached, he would become overwhelmed, and that was something he couldn’t afford when trying to save a life.

However, there was something about Spock. Of course, McCoy had a similar affection for all his close friends, but there was _something_ that set Spock apart.

If there was anybody aboard the ship who understood Spock’s history the most, it would have been McCoy. Sure, Jim knew many details of Spock that McCoy would possibly never hope to know, but there was something about McCoy’s access to Spock’s health records which unravelled a lot about his personal life. Not to say that Spock’s character came down to his biology, but one could tell the struggles the half Vulcan faced when looking at the long medical list in his records.

_Spock, First Officer of the USS Enterprise as well Chief Science Officer, born of the year 2230, in ShiKahr, Vulcan, to Sarak of Vulcan and Amanda Grayson of Earth. Conceived in a test tube and reinjected into the womb._

He shivered at the thought of that particular entry.

McCoy felt a sense of urgency when it came to Spock. He was frustrating, yes, but when Spock was in need of medical assistance, McCoy felt compelled to be the one to offer it. He had done so much extra research involving Vulcans and humans--and other forms of mixed species, not to mention, just to prepare to be Spock’s doctor. He was one of the few doctors in the universe who could treat him, and even then, he’d still brought Geoffrey M’Benga aboard.  

Beyond his credentials, McCoy felt a protectiveness over Spock. He didn’t want the half Vulcan to be in any discomfort or pain. As much as his arguing and bickering with him would suggest otherwise, McCoy had a deep understanding of the way things were with Spock, and he wanted nothing but security for him.

Even if Spock would disagree with his terminology, McCoy wanted Spock to be _happy._

As Rebecca refused to speak, McCoy found himself clearing his throat, pushing all previous thoughts concerning the pointy-eared hobgoblin to the back of his mind.

“Please, Rebecca. Help me help Spock by telling me what’s wrong.” McCoy begged, his tone much more sombre and quiet than it had been before.

Her eyes reopened just as the lift doors did, but she did not make a move to exit. She kept her position as timid and shy as it had been for the entire ride.

“It’s not your business or my business…” She whispered beneath her breath, running her fingers through her thick curls.

“It became _my_ business when you told me Spock was in trouble.” McCoy explained, leading her out of the lift so that they were no longer holding it up from another crew member.

“Why?” She cried out, turning to look at McCoy, no longer moving forth into the hall with him. “Why? Maybe he doesn’t want you to know, or for the whole ship to know!”

McCoy shook his head, closing the distance between them and looking Rebecca deep in the eyes. They did not dare shake or move away from hers, but remained strong and confident. A challenge.

“You know what?” McCoy started in a hushed voice, which still had the ability to sound harsh and authoritative. “Spock was having a medical emergency, long before I heard anything about Sovik. Now I think you might know a few things that can straighten this whole thing out.”

Rebecca whimpered again, bringing her hands up to cup over her eyes.

“Do you want to help Jim? To help me and possibly save Spock?” McCoy asked in a much more gentle voice. “Do you?”

Rebecca paused for a moment, looking up from the ground, and into McCoy’s strikingly powerful eyes. The colour, the emotion that lied behind them was moving her, and after a few moments of silence, she nodded her head.

“Yes, Doctor. I do.”

-

 

It was too late. _He_ was too late. There, on the floor several paces in front of him, Jim could see Spock’s lifeless body, hanging in Sovik’s grasp. A black strap was tied around his throat unforgivingly.

A pain swelled in his chest, his heart going from a complete stop to a racing pace that Jim was uncertain he would be able to maintain. His fingers numbed, his entire body frozen as he watched Sovik shaking the last of Spock’s consciousness out of him.

It was difficult for Jim to explain what he was feeling. He felt an absolute, undeniable rage toward Sovik. He was ready to reach out to Sovik’s own throat, and physically squeeze the life out of him like he had done to Spock. He wished to cause Sovik the trauma and pain that Spock had experienced. He wanted Sovik to suffer the consequences of his actions... and yet… and yet…

Jim couldn’t manage to budge. All Jim could think of at the very moment was Spock’s beautiful life, and how he would never be able to hear him say _‘fascinating’_ ever again.

There was nobody in the galaxy who could make Jim feel the way Spock made him feel. Nobody would make him laugh, make him smile, make him as happy as he had been with Spock. From their chess matches, to their long in-depth conversations and walks, Jim was going to miss Spock… he was going to _really_ miss him.

Tears built up in the edge of his eyes, looking down at the sight of Sovik holding Spock’s neck in the leather strap. He felt his stomach turning. He didn’t want this to be real. What had been a terrible situation had gone so horrendously wrong in seconds. Jim didn’t even have the chance to tell Spock he knew. He didn’t have a chance to tell Spock he would be a wreck without him in his life.

Death was nothing Jim hadn’t encountered before in his life. He had been forced to take the life of his good friend Gary Mitchell at the beginning of the mission. He had to deal with the chilling consequences of losing friends, crewmembers, people who were victims just as he was on Tarsus IV… It seemed he was constantly losing people he loved and cared about--even his own brother and sister in law on Deneva. But…

Jim could not imagine what it would be like to lose Spock. His best friend Spock.

His heart was throbbing in his throat, as adrenaline mixed with nausea. Jim thought that Spock was his friend when they first started working together. That had slowly transformed into the closest friendship he had ever had. It developed into a bond of sorts between them, making them inseparable. Jim realized he loved Spock more than he ever thought was possible. And whether Spock felt the same or not was of no consequence to him. For he didn’t love the idea of Spock loving him. He loved _Spock_ , and nothing could change that.

The back of Spock’s hand was limply laying on the floor, the cut on his palm fully exposed to light. Jim shook in grief and anger as the hand appeared stiff and unmoving, reminding Jim that he would never feel that Vulcan warmth ever again.

Sovik’s eyes lifted from Spock’s cold body, and they finally fell on Jim who was now entering the room in full force. Everything had been as though it were in slow motion up until this point, and Jim hoped the rest of their interaction would be the same. He wanted this moment of revenge to last. He wanted Sovik to know just how much Spock meant to him, and how much Spock was truly worth fighting for.

“Capt-” Sovik began to growl turning more to Jim’s direction in the doorway. He was unable to finish that thought as Jim had shoved him off of Spock, forcing his hands away from the strap around Spock’s neck.

As Jim was moving over Spock to pin the older Vulcan to the floor, Jim caught a glimpse of Spock’s serene expression. The blissful way his eyelids were shut, the way his skin was still soft and pale, like when he was alive. He was still absolutely gorgeous even in death.

A hand grabbed Jim by the jaw, returning his attention to Sovik who was trying to squirm away from Jim’s knee which was currently pressed against his stomach, just below the rib cage.

“Kirk.” Sovik hissed out, tone stressed from the way his lungs were being compressed.

“How could you do this to Spock?!” Jim spoke through his teeth, his hands moving down to hold down his arms so that Sovik was no longer grabbing onto his jaw. “How could you do all this to _Spock_?!”

Sovik tensed his muscles, grunting and groaning as he attempted to escape Jim’s grasp. “Spock belongs to me! He gave himself to me!”  Sovik loosened his arm, trying to shove the heel of his palm into Jim’s nose, but Jim was able to foresee the move and turned his head out of the way.

Jim gritted his teeth again, unable to stop himself from throwing his fist into the side of Sovik’s face, causing the Vulcan to grunt in pain and toss his head to the side.

“That’s not true! Spock doesn’t belong to anyone!” Jim growled back, tears building but never falling. He couldn’t risk falling apart at a time like this. If he started mourning Spock now, he would be unable to stop Sovik from proceeding to finish whatever sick plan he had with Spock’s limp body.

“He’s my bondmate! We are going to go to Vulcan and …”

Jim slammed Sovik to the ground lifting him off and then banging him downwards multiple times until Sovik found the focus to throw Jim off of him and onto his back.

“I have waited for this moment for a long time.” Sovik snarled, slowly trying to bring himself to his feet again. “You are bitter for losing Spock to me! He does not desire you as he desires me and you cannot _fathom_ it!”

Sovik dove on top of Jim, trying to get a good hold on him in any possible way. His hand was fisting at the collar of his shirt when Jim brought his leg up and gave the Vulcan a hard kick to the abdomen, sending Sovik backwards to slam his head on or against the desk.

Jim pounced, landing behind Sovik to try and get him into a locked position in his arms. He squeezed his arm around Sovik’s neck and turned it around, pressing it into his back forcefully.

“You _forced_ him! _”_ Jim yelled through his teeth, shoving Sovik’s head against the desk again. “Spock should never have had to do what you made him do.”

Sovik’s fingers found Jim’s wrist, squeezing it harder and harder until Jim was wincing in pain. He finally released Sovik’s arm from behind his back. When he was finally free, Sovik turned back to face the captain, his eyes wild and breathing ragged.

“I do not see what Spock favours in you.” Sovik grunted as he stood before Jim, his chest rising and falling heavily as he nearly threw Jim to the other side of the room, knocking some of Spock’s Vulcan treasures to the floor with a crash.

“I am larger, I am more powerful, more intelligent.” Sovik listed off, following after Jim, “I do not see why he constantly runs back to you! An irrational, illogical, selfish, _human._ ”

“Spock’s half human,” Jim snapped, stabilizing himself on the nightstand by Spock’s bed, bracing it tightly with his hands on either side of him, “Did you find his human side just as repulsive, Sovik? Or was his mixed biology also a _disgrace_?”

As Sovik lurched forward, Jim brought both the heels of his boots up and pummeled him in the chest, knocking him back again. Once Sovik was stumbling back, Jim quickly launched himself from the nightstand and shoved Sovik into the wall, his hands pinning him by the shoulders angrily.

“Everywhere human blood is present is disgraceful, Captain. Simply take a look at yourself.” Sovik spat,  grabbing Jim powerfully by the elbows and swinging him to the ground next to Spock. “I do not see how you were able to create a bond with him before myself!” He followed Jim’s body dangerously.

A heavy panting came from next to him, causing Jim to raise his head up in concern but was met with Sovik’s hand over his throat, his attention returning to the enraged Vulcan above him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim grunted as Sovik’s fingers tightened.

“Your pathetic bond with him! How is it that you two harbour such a thing without even consensually agreeing to it! I have laboured over his attentions, and he has only repaid me with dishonour!” Sovik yelled into Jim’s face, his cheeks staining a furious green, his neck thick and veined.

“Sovik, get off!” Jim roared, thrashing his body swinging his arms painfully under Sovik’s as his Starfleet training had taught him to respond in such a position. He was able to cease the restricting force around his throat and finally pushed Sovik back again, just long enough for Jim to roll away.

As he did so, his mind couldn’t help but mull over Sovik’s words. Bond? What bond was Sovik speaking of? Jim had not been aware of any sort of link between him and Spock; in fact, there had only been one short instance when Spock had ever joined their minds, and it had been so brief, so insignificant, that Jim couldn’t even believe that within that time Spock would create some sort of mental bond between them… especially without Jim’s consent.

However, Jim wasn’t entirely in disbelief. He knew that there was a strange force between him and Spock. A bond or a link seemed like an entirely fitting description of what they had.

Jim’s eyes moved across the room quickly for a moment, seeing and hearing something that drove his mind and heart into a pleasant humm. His eyes lit up at the sight of Spock turned over, sputtering and gasping for air, Sovik too distracted by his blind rage to acknowledge him.

He was alive.

It took all his strength to bring himself to his feet. He stumbled twice before propping himself on one knee, and extended his arm out to his best friend, trying more than anything to try and protect him. “Spock!” Jim reached out, his voice breaking.

Sovik’s hands had a hold of Jim’s shoulders again, swinging him down into the floor where he was delivered with the first blow to the jaw, snapping his head in the direction his fist had directed it.

“How could _you_ , a lowly human life form, the bottom of the evolutionary chain, gain such hideous perfection as Spock?” Sovik growled, bringing his hands to Jim’s neck again.

“Because, I look at him as a brother.” Jim choked out, bringing his leg up to kick Sovik off again. Simultaneously as he attempted, his hand reached for the nearby stone figurine that had rolled to the floor. It appeared to be some traditional symbol of Vulcan culture, but Jim had not known the history behind it… all he knew was it would make a satisfying crack over Sovik’s skull.

His fingers crept against the floor as he spoke. “If I’ve learned anything in my time as captain of the Enterprise… it would be that Spock is everything _but_ what you think of him.” Jim grunted as Sovik’s thick fingers shifted over his throat. “Spock is my best friend, my brother, and I love him.”

Sovik made an unceremonious yell, slamming Jim back into the floor before dropping him all together and reaching his fingers closer to Jim’s meld points.

“You may _love_ him, but I assure you, Captain, he will never love you in return.” Sovik growled, lining up his thumb to Jim’s cheek and setting his other fingers in place above Jim’s left brow. “He won’t feel much of anything ever again.”

Just as Sovik prepared to delve into the inner workings of Jim’s mind, a noise came from behind him and Spock was shaking on his knees, “Sovik… please… release him.”

Sovik’s head turned to meet eyes with Spock. His brow propped up in interest. It had been clear that Sovik had made the same assumption Jim had made. He, too, had believed Spock to be dead.

“Release… the captain…” Spock laboured for a breath, trying to control the pain, the lack of mental stability, and his body at the moment. His eyes fluttered open and closed with obvious exhaustion.

“You wish to save your captain?” Sovik almost laughed, turning fully to face Spock. “You? You can barely stand. You are half human and pathetic.” Sovik began as Jim scrambled silently to the figurine on the floor.

“When you were born, I was embarrassed to be in the same village as you. The comments I overheard regarding your existence was quite cruel, Spock. You had an opportunity to have a mate. To have someone to care for you, to honour you, to bond with you… and you gave it up for him.” Sovik pointed towards Jim who was bringing himself up to his feet, the statue firmly in hand.

Spock stumbled backwards, unable to stand any longer. Jim felt his heart break at the sight of his ever stoic, strong, and confident first officer. He had never seen him in a condition as anything less than that. Even in his moments of despair, Spock carried a sense of honour and dignity with him that disallowed others from ever knowing his struggle. He closed his eyes for a moment to avoid the sight.

Sovik’s eyes connected with the blunt object in Jim’s hand… a smile forming over his lips. “Really, Captain?” Sovik grabbed Jim by the wrist and pulled him close, tossing the statue to the floor. “I thought you to be a more admirable opponent. From what I saw in Spock’s mind, he thinks quite highly of you.” He shoved Jim with a powerful toss, throwing him into the nightstand once again. “He was very wrong.”

Jim turned to counterattack Sovik, but felt his head pounding with so much intensity and force, that he was unable to see for a moment. He fell to his knees, clutching the small table in his hands, his eyes clenched shut and he tried to regain his sense of direction. As he knelt there, he wasn’t sure which way he had just come from, let alone where Sovik was at that moment.

It was then that he heard a whimper coming from the other side of the room. It did not sound like Sovik, which meant that the Vulcan had his filthy hands on Spock once again.

“Tell him how you desired me! Tell him how you begged to assist me in my time! Tell him that you are nothing to him and he is nothing to you! You are to come back with me or you will _cease_ to exist!”

“Ji--” The sound of Spock’s voice snapped as though he were forcibly being cut short. Jim heart lurched forward at the helpless whimpering noise that followed.

“Spock!” Jim turned around, his vision clearing as he set forth for another attack. His hand automatically found the meditation candle holder that had rolled almost entirely under the bed.

When Jim reached Sovik, he saw the way Sovik had Spock pressed into the corner of the room. Spock’s eyes were closed tightly, and Sovik’s hands threatened to snap his neck. It was also with great anger that Jim saw the incessant rutting of Sovik’s hips against Spock’s body.

The image was so primal, so haunting that Jim was certain he would never be able to forget it. His stomach turned and his heart continued to beat faster and faster until his body moved blindly. His arms raised the object in his hands upwards and then down across Sovik’s skull, cracking the the candlestick from the force and successfully sending Sovik down to his knees. His hands grabbed hold of Spock’s tunic, pulling him down onto the floor on top of him.

Sovik began a whispering something to him in Vulcan, but Jim was not ready to let him finish. He had to get between them before Sovik’s hands reached Spock’s bruised face for a meld.

“ _Spock_ …” Sovik sounded needy and exhausted. Jim brought his boot up to Sovik’s face, and with a little more force than necessary, sent Sovik falling backwards into the ground, a trail of green dripping from his nose steadily.

And suddenly, there was silence.

It felt strange to hear nothing but his own racing heart once again. He could no longer hear the aggressions of Sovik, or the suffering of Spock. Everything was strangely still and quiet.

However, ridding them of Sovik was not the last of his work here. He still had much more to do. He hurried to the nearest comm unit and pressed his finger with painful force into the button contacting the bridge without a second thought.

“Kirk to bridge.”

“ _Bridge here; Cap--”_

“I need a medical team to Spock’s quarters as well as a security team.” Jim commanded breathlessly. His eyes wandered over to Spock as he stood there, his friend lying on the ground breathing unsteadily. “Make sure they hurry.”

“ _Is everything alright, Cap--”_ Uhura tried to speak again but was cut off for the second time in a row.

“You may call off the search for Sovik. He has been located. Kirk out.”

He released the button, knowing he had ignored Uhura’s rightfully concerned question. The truth had been, he had no way to reply to her without causing her further distress. He was completely unsure whether or not things were alright. He was certain that things would never be the same, and that he was still running the possibility of completely losing his best friend in the entire universe.

Quickly, he made his way to Spock’s side, kneeling next to his limp body. He grabbed Spock firmly by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake while trying to wake him with his voice. “Spock. _Spock_ , wake up.”

There was no response, causing Jim’s pulse to skyrockett, his hands trembling against Spock’s still frame. The tears finally fell down his right cheek, and he stubbornly wiped them away. He couldn’t help but feel as though he were holding Spock in his last moments, or some porcelain version of his friend that wasn’t entirely real. He ran his fingers through the silk black hair, feeling another tear rolling down the left cheek now.

He couldn’t manage to wipe it away, his hands clutching Spock’s body even tighter as he looked over the bruises over his neck and face. He was afraid to look at any other areas over his body, for fear he would find something even more damning.

Slowly, Jim brought Spock’s body unto his own, embracing the man as if it were the last time he would. He pushed his face into Spock’s hair, his tears dampening it in spots where his eyes and cheeks touched.

“Spock, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jim couldn’t manage another word other than that one. He felt an illogical need to beg Spock for forgiveness, to hold him in his arms until Spock was able to hear his pleas and understand that he would be only half a man without him.

Half a man without Spock somewhere in the galaxy.

Jim was never one for no-win scenarios, and there was nothing Jim hated more than losing, especially to Sovik. At that moment, however he felt lost-- like every command that would leave his lips from that day forth would be empty, hollow and pointless without Spock’s acknowledgment and support.

He separated them for a moment, resting Spock gently in his lap. He tried to make him comfortable enough that he could peer down onto Spock’s face without breaking their contact.

Jim’s hand sought out more contact, his fingers meeting with Spock’s. He massaged the digits soothingly, realizing that the hand he was holding was the one with the large incision over the palm.

He raised the injured flesh up to his face, pressing a gentle kiss to it and then placing it tenderly against his cheek as he looked upon his beloved Spock again. He blinked slowly, reopening his eyes to the image of Spock’s own eyes peeking through tiny slits.

“Spock?!” Jim exclaimed, being careful not to disturb him with any sudden movements. He slowly lowered the hand down over Spock’s chest, massaging the fingers gently. “Help is coming, alright. Stay with me.”

Spock had very little intention to do anything but that. He peered up at Jim with a tired expression, his entire face relaxed and unstrained as he looked up into Jim’s eyes. Comfort and warmth came over his body as Jim lightly brushed his fingers over Spock’s cheek.

“Wh… what about.. So.. Sov--” Spock attempted to say through a rough tone of voice, his eyelids falling slowly again as he tried to preserve the little energy he had left.

“About Sovik?” Jim clarified, nearing his ear slightly to Spock’s lips so that he could hear him clearer. “Sovik isn’t going to hurt you again. He’s going to be detained.”

Spock opened one of his eyes and then slowly closed them again, tilting his head slightly to rest against Jim’s body. Jim felt his heart thrum with eagerness, supporting Spock’s head thankfully as he watched him in complete awe. The strength, the determination, and the everlasting loyalty that could only come from one Vulcan… Spock.

“I… I’m… Sor… sorry, Ji… im.” Spock struggled to say, being hushed by Jim multiple times before finishing completely. But Spock pushed through the sentence, determined to be heard.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for Spock.” Jim whispered, tracing his finger over Spock’s cheek gently and then returning it to Spock’s hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Spock reopened his eyes, looking exhaustedly at Jim before shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Jim shook his own head, pulling Spock closer, “Sh. Just… just relax.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jim’s arms securely cradling Spock, his breath evening out as he felt Spock’s gentle, arrhythmic breathing. It was all Jim needed to hear. Like the sounds of the wind or the sound of an ocean, Spock’s breath was just as calming to him at this moment.

And the moment stretched, Spock’s lips parting slightly as he rested in Jim’s arms. Then moments after, he saw the smooth, pink tongue come out and lick over the drying lips. Jim tilted his head in fascination.

 _“Jim,”_ He remembered Spock saying earlier that week in the observation deck, when their hands were so close he could feel the heat of Spock’s body reaching out to his own. _“Do you find me, unforgettable?”_

Jim closed his eyes at the memory. His heart was in two halves, aching and bleeding on the inside as he tried to keep a calm exterior. He remembered how he just continued singing to Spock, never telling him just how unforgettable Spock truly was to him.

He wanted to tell Spock he loved him--wanted to tell him how much he appreciated his life, just how unforgettable he truly was to him. The moment seemed right, it seemed tender enough that his words would be received with a light heart. However, it was the exact opposite. After everything Spock had been through, after everything he had heard Sovik say to him, and possibly gotten himself to believe, hearing Jim inform him for a second time how much he adored him would do no good. It was insensitive, it was demeaning… it was simply the wrong time and place.

In fact, Spock might never be able to love Jim again. He may have at one point, but the truth was that Spock could have lost the ability to move forth with him during this process. And though it pained Jim to think of losing Spock in that regard, he felt thankful that he did not lose him entirely. It was more important for the whole universe to have Spock, not just Jim’s.

He closed his eyes, feeling completely broken at the aspect of Spock’s sufferings.

Though Spock was a seemingly intimidating individual, he was possibly one of the most caring individuals on the entire ship. His selflessness won out over all logic. His ability to risk his life for another’s was undoubtable, and quite inspiring. Spock had been there for everybody and anybody, serving as so much more than just a _computer_ as so many had referenced him as. No, Spock meant so much more to him, to his friends, to his ship, and to the Federation.

Jim felt something warm against his cheek. Something warm, yet shakey. As Jim slowly eased his eyes open, he saw Spock’s hand reaching up to his face, his eyes now opened in thin slits again, watching Jim’s face contently. And though it was illogical to assume Spock felt anything, Jim could have swore he saw a glistening light in those dark eyes.

His long, slender digits reached up for Jim’s face, the tips of them brushing over Jim’s forehead, down the temple and slowly curved onto his cheek. He the dragged his thumb comfortably under Jim’s eyes, wiping the tears that had fallen, clearing them away as Jim had secretly wanted.

Jim couldn’t help but smile at Spock’s comforting touch. He slowly caressed Spock’s bangs out from his face, admiring the pointed brows that slowly relaxed from their raised position. Jim wanted so badly to run his finger over them, to kiss the soft skin just above each brow.

Instead, Jim tightened his arms around Spock, keeping his sick friend warm, protected and secure, wondering for a moment what exactly Sovik had meant when he said Spock and he had shared a bond. What bond had he referred to?

Once his concern faded, Jim found himself uncaring. He closed his eyes brushing his face into the soft strands of Spock’s hair, inhaling the scent of Spock. He didn’t care what Sovik had said, or that Sovik was a few feet behind him, lying cold and unconscious on the floor. All Jim cared about was the arrival of the medical team, and the pattern of inhales and exhales coming from the Vulcan in his arms.

All that mattered was that Spock was alive.

-

 

A painful lump constricted McCoy’s throat, causing his body to go rigid and uncomfortable in front of the Rebecca. He placed his hands over the desk thoughtfully, trying to process what she had just informed him.

“And you didn’t say anything until now?” McCoy asked, his hands now in tense fists against the table. He couldn’t comprehend someone’s ignorance like this. There was absolutely no circumstance when it would be acceptable to behave with such selfishness--no matter _who_ the victim was.

Rebecca bowed her head. “I told you, Doctor, you wouldn’t like it.” She sighed, placing her hands together in her lap.

“How could _anybody_ like it?” McCoy barked back in a still amazingly calm tone.

She closed her eyes tightly, “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m so sorry.” She apologized, dropping her face into her hands.

“Well, I’m obviously not the person you need to apologize to.” McCoy muttered, feeling his blood slowly boil at the thought of Spock being completely torn apart in Sovik’s hands… and how obvious the signs had been and yet he did nothing.

“Damnit.” McCoy swore under his breath, feeling the guilt and remorse mounting within him.

Rebecca stood abruptly, tears dropping insistently down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to show you guys how sorry I am for this. I don’t know what I can do to show Spock that I’m sorry.”

McCoy smirked sarcastically at her, his head shaking in disbelief. “You want to know something? The time to show regret is passed now. You don’t deserve to give an apology in now.”

Rebecca wiped her tears away. Sniffling as the tears persisted, “You don’t understand, Doctor. I had no choice but to keep it to myself.”

“Why?” McCoy asked calmly, his mind still trying to fight the image of Sovik taking advantage of Spock behind his back.

“Because,” She sighed, turning back to face him. “Sovik was a danger to the ship. He had to find release, release only a Vulcan could offer him. If it wasn’t Spock, it would have been someone else.”

“You should have reported it. And if Sovik had a condition, you should have brought it to _my_ attention.” McCoy explained heatedly, hating the woman even more for her explanation. “Do you really mean the entire ship would have been in danger, or just yourself?”

She was silent for a moment, considering what McCoy had just said. As she stood there, McCoy felt anger rising in him again.

“You said Spock was sick…” He continued, ignoring McCoy’s previous question.

McCoy raised his eyes to meet hers, his lips pursed together as he tried to read the woman in front of him. Why was she so set on helping Spock when she couldn’t even build up the courage to inform _anybody_ of what had happened to him, before things had spiralled out of control.

“I’m not sure I trust you helping him anymore.” McCoy finally admitted, setting his PADD on the table, looking up at her disappointedly.

“Doctor _please_ ,” Rebecca begged, “If there’s anything I can do to help Spock, I want to do it.” She placed both her hands on the desk, leaning forward to look McCoy deeper in the eyes. “I want to make things right again, you have to believe me.”

There was very little doubt in McCoy’s mind that Rebecca did want to make things better. She likely did want to make things better between herself and Spock, or possibly with the captain, but there was something so ungenuine about it. There was something about the fact that Spock was suffering behind closed doors, and Rebecca turning a blind eye that made the concept of her forgiveness very unlikely.

Yet, he was completely at a loss for Spock’s results. He wasn’t sure _what_ exactly had been altering his blood contents, and if there was any way that Rebecca could explain these circumstances to him, the faster he could start helping Spock.

“Doctor,” Rebecca sobbed, “I might know what’s wrong with him.”

“You might know?” McCoy bit his lip, trying to hold back his rage. “And this is just another thing you didn’t think to share with anybody until now?”

“I didn’t know Spock was sick…” Rebecca argued.

“It doesn’t take a doctor to know that there was something wrong with him. And you knew what was happening to him.” McCoy insisted, thinking back to the way Spock had entered his sickbay. The distant look in his eyes, the almost fearful attitude. McCoy shut his eyes, hoping that maybe if he clenched them tight enough the images would leave his mind.

“Listen,” Rebecca began to grow more impatient, her tone more strained as she began stressing each word to the doctor. “I don’t need you or Captain Kirk to trust me again, or even to like me. All that matters to me right now is making sure Spock doesn’t die because of my stupid decisions. And holding a grudge against me isn’t got to make that happen any faster, so I’m asking you now, Doctor, to please just let me know what’s going wrong with Spock.”

McCoy lowered his brows. Unfortunately, she was right. McCoy didn’t need to like her; in fact, he didn’t like her. However, that wouldn’t clear up Spock’s results, and since he was beginning to run out of options, McCoy found himself shamefully giving in.

He stood himself up from the chair, moving toward cabinet where he opened the doors quietly. He felt an annoyance for reaching out to Rebecca when all he wanted to do was drop her off at the nearest planet and leave her there, along with all the other RU-598 group members.

He pulled a beaker from the temperature control unit and brought it over to the desk, his eyes completely avoidant of Rebecca’s. The glass beaker made a clinking noise against the table, and finally he decided to acknowledge Rebecca.

Once the beaker was in the center of the table and in perfect reach of Rebecca, McCoy pulled the PADD from the other end of the table and brought it beside the glass, bringing up Spock’s bloodwork notes for her to see.

“We were able to isolate the… _mystery_ substance, but this is about as far as we’ve managed to get.” He mumbled, “What we do know is that whatever this is, it’s breaking down Spock’s shields.”

Rebecca raised her eyes to the doctor, then returning them back to the screen of the medical PADD in front of her. She began scanning through the pages, reading all the notes the lab had developed.

Suddenly, the intercom whistled, informing McCoy of an incoming message from somewhere in the ship. He approached the wall, activating the speakers by pressing the button firmly with his thumb. “McCoy here.”

 _“Doctor McCoy, there is a medical emergency on deck five in Commander Spock’s quarters, that requires you and a medical team’s assistance.”_ Uhura informed, her voice even and cool as always.

McCoy automatically peered over to Rebecca, his expression as disappointed as it had been moments ago when she had told him the entire story regarding Spock and Sovik. He couldn’t help but still feel disgusted by her.

“I’ll be right there.” McCoy replied, releasing the button and turning to Rebecca straight on.

“I should come.” Rebecca placed the PADD back onto the table, standing up confidently as though her presence was expected of her.

“No,” McCoy shook his head, “I don’t need you in the way of my medical team. You’ll stay right in here with Nurse Chapel.” He signalled the nurse from the other room who had overheard her name and already began making her way to the doorway.

“But Doctor!” Rebecca panicked, “It’s Sovik, I know it is! I have to be there for him…”

McCoy’s eyes went wide, then slowly his face scrunched together in disgust. How could Rebecca show so much remorse for Spock, and yet be so entirely loyal to Sovik at the very same time? How could she be dedicated to a monster like him?

Another shiver sparked through McCoy’s body, making him regret for having put that image back into his head. He didn’t like the idea of Spock in any form of distress, let alone at the hands of someone so incredibly sinister as Sovik. He tried to refocus his mind on the task at hand.

“Please, just stay here.” McCoy grumbled under his breath, approaching Christine Chapel with a look of exhaustion and concern spreading fast over his features. “Make sure she doesn’t leave. I’m sure the captain would like to ask her a few more questions.”

“Sir?” Christine questioned, looking over at Rebecca in confusion.

“Nevermind Nurse, and just do as you’re told.” McCoy sighed, moving past her into the main sick bay area to gather team of nurses and their stretches if need be.

He lead the way, knowing the exact route to Spock’s quarters. It was not too far of a walk considering the lift wasn’t far from it.

The closer he got, the more worried he became. If there was something problematic in Spock’s quarters, McCoy had only the worst to assume. Possibly Sovik had gotten to Spock far before Jim or any crew member could get to him. Or maybe Sovik got to Jim _and_ Spock. Someone could be on the verge of death and he wouldn’t know it until he got there… until it was possibly too late.

His blood burned again. The disgust he had toward Sovik was mounting to an ultimate high. If Sovik had dared to lay another one of his fingers on either one of his friends, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to contain himself.

Then McCoy’s heart pained with a new thought. Suddenly the situation became all too real. If Spock was gone, or vise versa, what would that mean for the other? And even if they were both around, how was Jim handling this new development in their lives?

Jim had shown his dedication to Spock over the years, risking his life as well as his career on multiple occasions, just for Spock’s safety. McCoy had known there was something deeper hidden between the two of them, and when Jim had finally admitted to it, McCoy felt a hint of excitement. Jim deserved happiness and love.

He had been so sure Spock felt the same for Jim. When Jim had told him of Spock’s rejection, McCoy was in a state of disbelief. Now, everything made a bit more sense. Why would Spock ever consider a serious relationship when he was suffering from something as traumatic as what he had been over the past few days? From what Rebecca had told him, it hadn’t just occurred once, but multiple times.

Finally, they were on deck five, moving toward the door with intensity, their equipment heavy and loud as one nurse carried a large case full of McCoy’s instruments over his shoulder.

When they made it to the door, McCoy used his override pass to activate the doors, barging in and instantly calling for the computers to increase the lights. For some reason the room had been dimly lit, and smelt strangely of sweat.

“Jim?” McCoy finally spoke, looking down at the horrific scene before him. The sight of Sovik lying cold on the floor with a trail of green blood dripping down the side of his face was not the horrifying sight. It had been the image of Jim holding _Spock’s_ unconscious, bruised body in his arms.

“Bones!” Jim exclaimed, looking over at him with hopeful eyes. His previously tense muscles relaxed as he watched him approach.

“You two go check Doctor Sovik.” McCoy directed, motioning two of his staff members at Sovik’s side.

Jim loosened his grip on Spock, allowing McCoy to help him lay him onto the ground gently. Jim’s eyes were still wide with concern, his hands in tense, clenched fists against the floor. “Is he alright?”

McCoy lifted one of Spock’s eyelids, noticing the vacant way Spock’s eyes fluttered, threatening to roll back. He then allowed it to close once again, moving his attention to the tricorder he was pulling out from his pocket.

As the device rang in his hands, McCoy’s eyes roamed over Spock’s face. He noticed a dark green bruise surfacing over Spock’s eye, another one forming over his cheek. Both injuries were nothing compared to the large burns on his neck, looking as if someone had tried to strangle him with some sort of rope or leather.

McCoy’s eyes returned to Jim’s. “What the hell happened here?” He looked around the room, noticing the way things had been knocked over, broken, trashed, as though something violent and unpredictable had charged through there.

“Is he going to be alright?” Jim decided to ask again, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. McCoy had no doubt that it had stemmed from his poor sleeping habits over the past few days, the chaos he had just encountered, as well the emotional trauma that had been brought onto him from Spock’s current condition.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he will be, Jim.” McCoy assured, his voice sounding as relieved as Jim’s expression. “But really, Jim, what in God’s name happened here? This place looks is a disaster.”

Jim surveyed the room, his eyes looking at the mess he had caused, but not consciously considering it. “It _was_ a disaster.”

McCoy silently agreed, even without knowing the specific events of that evening. He pulled one of the stretchers they had brought, “Help me get Spock onto this.” He ordered, knowing Jim would be more than happy to lend a hand.

While Jim had a good hold onto Spock’s upper half, McCoy held the bottom, carefully they lifted him onto the stretcher, trying not to drop him or hold him in any uncomfortable positions.

As Spock was laying on the stretcher, both Jim and McCoy’s eyes noticed the open zipper of Spock’s pants, his black Starfleet underwear still covering beneath the material. His eyes grazed upwards noticing the dark green scratches that existed just above the hem of Spock’s pants.

“Jim—“

“Bones—“ They both said at the same time, their eyes going off of Spock and finally to each other.

They remained silent for a moment, an awkward sense of understanding between them. Neither of them dared to speak until McCoy finally cleared his throat and took the lead.

“Jim, Rebecca told me.” He admitted, pulling a thin cover over Spock’s body to insulate his body heat, making sure that he was the most preferred temperature.

Jim’s eyes remained on him hard and still, unwavering until finally he looked back down at Spock. He looked completely blank, and for some reason that concerned McCoy. Jim’s silence spoke louder than tears ever could.

“Jim…” McCoy started again until Jim decided to speak over him.

“Check on Sovik.” He ordered, his hand resting over Spock’s shoulder affectionately.

McCoy decided not to argue. He gave the captain a firm nod, forcing himself to turn towards the horrid man on the floor, and kneel next to him. It was in his training to look down at Sovik and see nothing other than a body to heal. However, he was finding it more and more difficult to look him over and heal what had been destroying for so long… to try and _fix_ Sovik’s bruises and cuts as if he wanted the man to be on his feet and better again. The only reason he wanted him to be on his feet and healthy, was so that he could ask him questions, to get some answers as to why and how he could hurt someone like Spock.

Slowly, McCoy brought the medical tricorder over Sovik’s chest; the continuous chiming of the device was all that could be heard in the room at the present time. McCoy signalled for one of the nurses to clean off the drying blood from his upper lip and cheek.

Quickly, the crew turned Sovik onto his side. McCoy noticed the intense swelling over the bridge of the nose, and when he brought his fingers to it, he felt the disturbing click of a broken bone. He looked up at the nurse. Neither one of them spoke, but both completely understood the severity of the situation.

“Give him a hypo of anodyne.” McCoy ordered, tearing away the right sleeve of his robe to reveal his bare arm.

One of the nurses pressed the hypo against the exposed flesh. It hissed against him as the medication began to take effect, instantly numbing Sovik in case he currently felt any of the pain.

“He’s burning up.” McCoy noted out loud. “Get him on a stretcher fast. We’ve got to stabilize his temperature.”

The team of doctors moved quickly bringing Sovik up by the legs and arms and heaving him into the hover stretcher. McCoy watched as Sovik’s eyes opened slowly, his teeth instantly grinding together.

His breath increased, and then suddenly he began shaking his head like a mad man, yelling incoherent sounds as he shoved one of the nurses powerfully against the wall.

“Spock! Spock! I _need_ Spock!” He called out, his eyes looking bizarrely panicked considering he was in such an angry fit. “Unhand me or I shall break you all!”

“Get the restraints!” McCoy ordered, looking over briefly at the way Jim left Spock’s side to help the team hold Sovik down, his eyes still appearing heavy and listless.

They strapped one of his arms down, but it wasn’t enough, he instantly tore his arm out of it, his teeth chomping down painfully over one of McCoy’s knuckles. He pulled away instantly, bringing his injured hand in to himself to quell the pain.

Sovik’s hand tightened into Jim’s shirt, pulling him closer to him and then growling angrily as their faces came dangerously close.

And yet...not threatening.

Sovik twisted his fingers so tightly into Jim’s shirt that he actually began to tear the material, his mouth struggled to form the words he wished to speak, his eyes looking at Jim with a hint of fear and confusion Jim had never seen on Sovik, not to mention any Vulcan.

“What?” Jim asked, not pulling back away from the aggressively aroused Vulcan. “What are you trying to say?”

“Give him three CCs of melorazine.” McCoy ordered loudly, bringing both his hands into the mix. He held Sovik’s shoulders while two nurses held the legs.

The hypo hissed as it was administered to the opposite shoulder as the one that received the anodyne. Immediately, it began to take effect, Sovik breathing becoming more and more controlled, his hand loosening from Jim’s shirt, and his eyes meeting with Jim’s for a moment.

“Ca… cap’n Kirk…” Sovik huffed out, struggling to get the words out.

“Yes?” Jim encouraged, giving Sovik a brief and gentle shake from his shoulders. “What is it?”

Sovik’s eyes slowly closed, his muscles constricting for a moment before he laid on the stretcher fully his hand detangling from the material of Jim’s gold tunic. “Tell… flee… so… sor…” Sovik finally went limp, his hand bouncing off the cushion beneath him, and with his sudden unconsciousness, the entire room became much more quiet.

“You three take Sovik back to sickbay. The captain and I will handle Spock.” He gestured the others to take the lead. He waited until they all departed leaving the three of them in the room alone.

McCoy peered over at Jim across Spock’s stretcher, noticing the way Jim’s eyes were glancing down at Spock; they were full of admiration and affection.

“I’m going to do everything I can, Jim,” McCoy muttered softly, watching as Jim’s eyes never swayed from Spock’s pale skin.

Jim nodded his head.

“Jim…” McCoy sighed, retrieving a hypo from his bag and applying it to his arm, the action producing a hissing noise. “Spock’s going to need a lot of time to recover from these injuries. Especially the mental ones. Things like his shields.”

Jim nodded again.

“What are you thinking about?” McCoy asked, beginning to roll Spock’s stretcher out into the corridor.

Jim followed, walking next to Spock. He locked the cabin behind them, and then they began their trip down the hall.

“I can’t help but think of what Sovik was just trying to tell me.” Jim replied, running his hands through his hair intensely. “Actually, everything Sovik said.”

McCoy looked over at Jim briefly, his brow raised curiously. “What do you mean? What did he say?”

Jim placed his hand over Spock’s shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “He tried to tell me something before you administered the sedative, but he also said some things before, when we were fighting.”

McCoy paused in front of the lift, waiting for the doors to open.

“He said something about me and Spock being bonded. Something about how angry he was that we were bonded so _‘effortlessly’_ , while he had to … force Spock to be with him.” He mumbled out the rest, becoming increasingly disturbed by the thought of Sovik _forcing_ Spock to do anything.

“Maybe he was talking figuratively.” McCoy suggested as the doors opened, pushing Spock’s bed into the lift, making just enough room for him and Jim to stand next to him.

Jim shook his head, a disagreeing humm leaving his lips as he looked down at Spock’s wincing face. “Is he waking up?” He peered up at McCoy, his hand going down to touch Spock’s hands.

McCoy shook his head. “No, he’s probably just in pain, Jim.” McCoy sighed, “I can’t give him the anodyne I gave Sovik to lessen it. It takes a while to prepare a decent painkiller for him.” He lifted the empty hypo in his hand, “If I gave him a shot of this, he could go into cardiac arrest, or worse.”

“Can’t you do something for the pain?” Jim asked in a quiet panic, his eyes watching the tiny twitches in Spock’s face.

“I can’t do anything until we’re in sickbay.” McCoy admitted, watching as the lift doors began to open. “But I gave him a small dose of the melorazine. That usually puts him out pretty fast. Gives him some time to control the pain or whatever he does. The only thing is he might wake up with a stomach ache, as he usually does with the medication we give him.”

Jim offered a tiny smirk, remembering the countless times he complained about McCoy’s work ethics as well as what he referred to as his ‘ _beads and rattles’._ Spock would sometimes come back from sickbay greener than usual.

The smile quickly faded as Jim helped maneuver the stretcher out from the small space in the lift.

Just as they reached the doors to sickbay, McCoy halted the stretcher, giving Jim a long hard look until the captain met his gaze.

“I can’t have you in the same room as these two.” McCoy explained, “I need you to go with Nurse Chapel and get yourself checked over. You don’t look too good. In fact, you look like you're about to fall over.”

“I’m fine, Bones.” Jim lifted his hand to settle the doctor, but McCoy persisted forth.

“Don’t, _‘I’m fine Bones’_ me. You had a concussion that you didn’t let me treat properly. You didn’t take your rest day as I had suggested… you went ahead and put yourself in danger without arming yourself with a phaser weapon or getting any sort of back up from security.” McCoy began to list off. “Jim… I’m asking you not only as your Chief Medical Officer… but also as your friend. _Please_ have yourself looked over by a nurse.”

Jim and McCoy shared a look for a moment, one of stubbornness and exhaustion. Jim didn’t have the words to reply, his eyelids falling closed before peering back into McCoy’s gaze again.

“I won’t be done with Spock and Sovik for several hours. I need to do… _in depth_ exams on both of them and repair the damages that have occurred. You won’t be able to see either one until probably tonight at the earliest.” McCoy pushed the stretcher into sickbay, signalling for two near by nurses to take him in the rest of the way. When McCoy turned, he saw Jim’s eyes following Spock.

“Jim, get some rest. Get looked after for once, and let me worry about Spock,” McCoy said offering a sympathetic look. “He’s safe now.”

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 I hope everyone enjoyed. Of course I would love to hear your thoughts. You can email me at iamcemxox@gmai.com , or you can send me an ask or message through tumblr [here](i-am-cem.tumblr.com) (I'm always looking for new blogs to follow!), and of course in the comments below. I'd like to know what you all think!
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading <3 I really appreciate it. <3 <3 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 until next time. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper friends.


	18. Pitch Black, Pale Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my amazing beta plaidshirtjimkirk who looked over and edited the entire thing the moment I handed it to her at like 1 in the morning. She has always been extremely supportive and such an inspiration as you all know. Check out her stuff [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk)
> 
> ALSO this art below was created by Quietoceanlove. AN AMAZING artist who has gifted me a piece of work for this story previously. I'm in awe when I look at this piece because it holds such symbolism... and it really catches what I was trying to portray. She is a genius... she is an artist... she's incredible. I don't have words to descirbe my honour and admiration for her and her skill... I LOVE her art. and so THANK YOU QUIETOCEANLOVE for this amazing piece. If you like what you see feel free to follow her on tumblr [here](ietoceanlove.tumblr.com) . Let her know how much you like it with an ask or fanmail! Also you can catch more of her work on deviant art [here](http://quietoceanlove.deviantart.com/) . I'm honoured to have this piece accompany this chapter... fantastic.. absolutely fantastic. 
> 
> ENJOY THE CHAPTER!!! <3 <3 <3 and of course as always ... live long and prosper

( _Art work by Queitoceanlove. Thank you)_

 

 

 

**Pitch Black, Pale Blue**

 

Malena Vuaan entered the room, her hand holding the medical PADD in her hand stiffly as she approached her patient. Her eyes raised up, and her heart fluttered nervously as she gazed at the captain who was laying on the biobed with his eyes wide to the ceiling. Her gaze dropped just as his did.

“Captain Kirk, I’m Nurse Vuaan.” She greeted, signing off on the PADD, and bringing it close into her chest as she finished. She gave him a hesitant stare. This would be her first medical exam aboard the Enterprise.

Of course, it wasn’t her first medical exam _ever_ , which made the whole situation less daunting. She had served aboard the USS Santa Maria as a routine medical nurse. After serving there for five years she found it an honour for Starfleet to offer her such an admirable position on board the Enterprise.

However, it wasn’t so calming to know that her first _assignment_ was aiding _the_ Captain James T. Kirk while there were no other available staff. McCoy had his trust in her, and she in herself, but there was something so trying about having her first interaction with the captain in such a manner.

She had seen the holovision with Jim’s face on it before. She had heard the stories from her colleagues and friends about this space man who had absolutely no boundaries, who contributed so much to science and curiosity. There was something so enticing about the man in the bed before her, and yet she was in a position now that he was entirely dependent on her.

 _‘Captain James T. Kirk is dependent on me.’_ she thought nervously to herself, her fingers quivering against her PADD.

And though she had seen this man before so many times on her holovid, she never imagined him looking like this. Yes, there was some dermal damage from the apparent _encounter_ he had with their guest Vulcan Sovik. But he did not fully appear to be the man she had thought to meet. He appeared so distant, so distracted and quiet. So quiet. Which was miles from the charming enthusiast she had admired from afar.

And yet there was still so much to admire about him anyways.

His eyes finally turned to her, his brow raising curiously as she eventually realized she had stopped talking and was merely staring at him slack jawed. She quickly shut her mouth, turned her body to the table at Jim’s side, and placed the PADD down onto the table gently.

“I see in your records you had experienced slight trauma to the head. A concussion.” She noted, reading off the PADD on the table.

Jim simply nodded, his eyes once again returning to the ceiling, obviously deep in thought.

“Very well, I want to start there, and then we’ll move on to the more superficial injuries if that’s alright.” She smirked, finally approaching him.

The life sign readings came above head, the sound of Jim’s heart represented by a low thrumming noise from the machine. Her eyes looked over it carefully, comparing results from there with what Jim’s typical readings suggested.

“Your blood pressure is low.” She pointed out, gazing down at Jim briefly.

When there was no reply from the captain, Malena swallowed hard, returning her attention to the screen again. “Are you in pain?” She asked, her eyes scanning the pain meter on the chart, appearing to be slightly above acceptable.

The man wore a very convincing expression to deter her, but she knew all too well what he was feeling.

She reached for her equipment, preparing Jim for a brain scan, her eyes constantly reverting back to the solemn man laying peacefully on the bed. And for whatever reason she could not explain, there was a sense of guilt and sadness she felt for him--almost as though she felt it her duty to ask him what was wrong.

But she couldn’t. There were regulations against her trying to perform the work of a psychologist when she was specifically assigned to assess and treat Jim Kirk’s injuries. However, she could suggest a trip to one.

She returned her attention to her work. “Alright, Captain, keep still.” She gave him a reassuring smile, bringing the scanner over his head steadily. “Ready?” She asked, not entirely sure why she was trying so pathetically to start a dialogue with him.

Jim peered over at her, his expression softening as his lips did. A small smirk appeared and he gave her a slight nod. “Ready.”

The scanner started up, beeping and blaring into the room, causing Jim to raise his hand up to his head nauseously. Malena reached forward, clasping his hand in hers and bringing it down at his side slowly. “Try to keep your hands out of scanning range, Sir.”

He closed his eyes, his brows furrowing from the pain he was undoubtedly feeling in his head. She felt her heart swelling with sympathy as she watched the man suffer silently beneath her.

“Just a few more seconds, Sir.” She promised, her eyes peering over at the screen above Jim’s head.

Finally, the image appeared in perfect precision. As she looked over the screen, she pulled the scanner away from Jim. “Mhm.” She hummed in fascination, recording all her findings down on the PADD beside her as she looked over the results. “McCoy’s notes were correct. You _had_ a grade three concussion but it seemed to have healed somewhat. Now you have a grade one concussion.”

She sat in the chair on Jim’s right, logging her findings as Jim sat up onto his elbows, turning his face to look at her. As he stayed like that for a moment, a bout of dizziness occurred and Jim fell onto his back, his hands cradling his head.

“You’re going to feel dizziness for a while, Captain. I’d suggest just laying down.” She advised, placing the PADD on the table again.

“This feeling in my head…” Jim started, his words slow and laborious.

“The concussion, Sir.” She reminded, raising a brow in concern. “It’s going to hurt at the back of the head there for a while.”

“But it’s not the back.” Jim mumbled. His eyes closed as he felt his head almost as though he were searching for the pain.

“Sir, the concussion…” She referred to the chart before getting cut off by Jim once more.

“It’s somewhere…” He rubbed his hand over the top of his head, then down his forehead. His eyes slowly opened to look at Malena, “I can’t … describe it.”

Malena watched him intently for a moment, her eyes locked on his as she somehow _believed_ what he was saying. The way he looked up at her telling her, _pleading_ with her to stop the pain. To stop whatever it was that was hurting his head.

But it was likely the concussion, and she had said that to him. Why wouldn’t the captain believe her?

Returning her attention to the scans, she placed her finger on the interactive screen and turning the image, further analyzing each lobe of Jim’s brain. There didn’t seem to be any significant damage or bruising to any other sections besides the one she had noted on the back hemisphere of the occipital lobe.  

“I felt it before. On the bridge.” Jim grumbled, his tone slow and laboured still as he attempted to get the message out. “McCoy was there. It hurt somewhere … here.” He tried to indicate the large area over his head.

“Sir, I’m not receiving any indication that there is any trauma residing in those areas. It appears to just be the concussion on the…” She started again.

“It’s not the concussion, Nurse.” Jim replied, his eyes moving over the ceiling as he tried to mentally search for the pain. “It’s… different.”

Malena stared down at Jim, her mind reeling as she logged the entire conversation into her PADD. _‘Paranoid. Hallucinating. Denial.’_ She carefully returned her eyes to Jim, inspecting the darkening skin around his eyes indicating the forced blow to the face. She further scanned his features, discovering multiple areas of physical stress.

“Let’s take care of these for now, Captain.” She sighed, dropping the PADD in favour of obtaining the dermal regenerator, and as it hummed quietly, she brought it to work over Jim’s injured face 

-

Spock’s skin had never looked this pale before. Even with the artificial lights above head, McCoy couldn’t believe Spock’s complexion. It also somehow appeared a lot more green than usual.

This hadn’t been the first time McCoy had seen Spock in such a way, half naked with the Starfleet issued blanket tossed over his lower half. There had been injuries he had to tend to that were of the more _private matter, as well there were exams McCoy had to perform for every crew member aboard the ship to ensure the health and wellbeing of all. Spock was not spared these appointments simply because of his mixed biology or that he detested undressing in front of others._

It was never a _fight_ per say. In fact, aside from the verbal squabbles here and there, there wasn’t much to put up with when Spock entered his sickbay. Spock would argue some of McCoy’s ethical practices, and before they could call one another friends, he had even threatened to report some of McCoy’s practices simply on the basis that they were illogicaland almost _barbaric._

Aside from those minor disagreements, Spock was a rather calm, collected, and respectable patient--just as he was in every other role he assumed.

That made the matters worse. Spock’s good nature, as well as the obvious distaste he had for becoming so bare in front of others made McCoy bite his lip painfully. The thought of Spock’s animosity to becoming both physically and emotionally vulnerable made looking at his bruised and battered body so much harder.

When Spock had become exposed in the physical such as this-- the few times McCoy could remember it ever occurring--Spock always wore a hard, avoidant stare; usually his face was covered by a faded green blush. It was at those times McCoy never dared start their usual dialect. Never would he further expose Spock by referencing the vulnerability of his human half peeking through.

 _Now,_ Spock looked almost accepting to the fact. His eyelids soft, his brows relaxed and his mouth closed, but lips slightly parted. He appeared to be careless to what was happening to his body… as though it didn’t matter whether McCoy saw the evidence of his abuse or not.

McCoy wondered if that was fully true.

“Hand me the dermal regenerator.” McCoy ordered, reaching his hand out for the tool he had requested. As Christine located it and handed it to him, McCoy felt an urgent need to start running it over the length of Spock’s body, despite not wanting to see any of what Sovik had done to him.

There were large bruises covering the torso and hips which were clevery hidden beneath the blanket. Large hand prints imprinted on the hip bones and shoulders. It was disturbing how detailed every mark was. McCoy could even see the individual teeth marks coating the pectorals over Spock’s chest, and neck.

Christine recorded the injuries as McCoy simply stared. It was so difficult to find the balance in his mind. His every will telling him to repair the damages and to repair them fast, while he found it almost physically impossible to start. He couldn’t help but gawk at the shell of his former friend. So different. So … unlike Spock.

It was the marks over Spock’s neck that caught his attention above all the painful imprints of whatever had been tied around his neck. He could see the burn marks of whatever it had been, chafing against the tender, sensitive skin. McCoy shivered at the thought, disturbed further that Jim had allegedly witnessed it all.

How much, McCoy wasn’t sure.

Christine placed the recordings on the desk, looking up from Spock’s form and over at McCoy with guilt and intense sadness. “Doctor?” She asked in her usual soft, calm manner.

When their eyes met, McCoy’s warmed slightly. He was somewhat glad to have an excuse to look away from Spock. Any sight would have been a pleasant one after what he had witnessed.

“Would you like me to continue with the dermal repairs?” She asked sweetly, grazing her fingers against Spock’s pale arm.

It was then that McCoy realized he still hadn’t budged from his previous position. He had been gawking at Spock as though he were some horrifically tragic car accident… one that the eyes just couldn’t be torn from.

And yet, he could sense she hadn’t asked this simply to assist him for something as currently mindless as productivity… she was almost asking in some form of sympathy.

It was unnecessary… illogical even, and yet he was completely thankful for it.

“Yes, Nurse.” McCoy sighed, handing her the dermal regenerator back. He looked down at some of the other repairs he had made earlier--ones he did not want to envision how they had come to be.

He watched Christine handle the regenerator with grace, her fingers loosely holding the device while the others supported Spock’s arm, almost as though he were human and watching in fear. Her eyes followed the path of the medical tool in her hand, her head tilting as she moved slowly as to create the best results.

A small smile pulled at McCoy’s lips. He was proud to have Christine on his team.

Quietly, McCoy moved to refer to the readings on his PADD, trying to formulate the best hypo mix for Spock’s unique physiology, and his condition. Had he been human it would have been no question. If he had been Vulcan, it would have been no problem. And McCoy never liked to look at this extra time Spock required as a _problem_ , simply a solution that was harder to get at.

“His breathing is increasing.” Christine noted, her eyes lifting to the monitor, her exterior just as calm as McCoy’s was, given the situation.

“His blood pressure is rising as well.” McCoy furthered, placing his PADD on the table as though it was of no importance.

A rumbling noise came from Spock’s chest, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

“His temperature is also increasing, Doctor.” Christine reported, placing the dermal regenerator on the table closest to her side as well.

“I can see that Nurse!” McCoy fired back. “Quick, get him some of those freezer packs.”

“But, Doctor…” Christine attempted to warn, quickly being cut off by McCoy.

“Nurse, get those freezer packs!” McCoy barked, returning his full attention to Spock, who was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable. It was obvious that his serum was not taking well, and that whatever positive effects it had been serving, it was not one hundred percent efficient.

Christine was out of McCoy’s sight, the sound of the other doctors treating Sovik only white noise. He could only see Spock gently tossing his head from side-to-side, almost as though he were waking up in a confused daze, yet too exhausted to simply open his eyes.

“It’s okay, Spock, we’re doing everything we can.” McCoy muttered, thinking over the combination of the painkillers he had given him, as well as the medicine to keep his blood pressure from rising anymore than it had been when he first walked in.

Spock groaned, his eyes opening but seeing nothing as McCoy rushed to gauge his temperature.

_95.34 F._

McCoy pursed his lips tightly together, swallowing hard before looking back down at his friend, and trying to bite back the expression of fear and anxiety he was currently feeling.

Spock raised his hand, his fingers rigid and stiff as he quickly brought it up to his face, dragging his fingers down his cheeks in obvious frustration with his condition.

“Shh,” McCoy replied, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. He wasn’t sure how things would continue without Spock. Of course, with all dramatics aside, McCoy just couldn’t imagine the word _Enterprise_ without their stoic Vulcan first officer… not because life on the Enterprise wouldn’t continue without him, but because it had been such a joy up until this moment with him.

An uncomfortable groan sounded from behind Spock’s hand where his mouth was. McCoy watched the body temperature meter again. _96.9._

“Nurse!” McCoy shouted, just as Christine appeared in the doorway, freezer packs in hand.

As she began placing the packs around Spock’s body, McCoy returned to his initial duty, finding a suitable hypo combination that would suit Spock, without the ill effects.

“His temperature is somewhat stabilizing.” Christine pointed out.

McCoy acknowledged the fact silently, his mind racing on what had gone wrong in the previous serum to make Spock react so badly. It was clear that Spock was getting to the more queasy side effects of the dose, as he occasionally got.

It was difficult being Spock’s doctor. Unlike most of the crew, McCoy was _every_ type of physician for Spock. There wasn’t a single soul in the universe that knew Spock’s biology as intimately as himself. Yes, M’Benga had been hired at McCoy’s requests, exactly for the predicament he was in at the moment. M’Benga brought additional information regarding Vulcan species that McCoy had never formally been taught.

As it was, McCoy was at the somewhat _making things up_ stage as he moved along, making emergency situations such as this extremely difficult.

However, one thing was puzzling. The painkiller McCoy had administered--though it had given Spock ill side effects occasionally-- never caused such a severe fever such as this.

Suddenly, a noise broke out on the other side of the room. It was a loud shout, causing the hairs on the back of McCoy’s neck to stand. He wouldn’t dare rip his attention from his patient, as if taking his eyes off of Spock would mean death.

“His temperature is 97.8, Doctor.” Christine commented, her voice sounding much more panicked than it typically did.

It was definitely concerning enough information for McCoy to cringe at the sound of her voice and the content of what she was saying. Just as humans did, Vulcan’s could burn up. If that temperature reached anywhere above 105, Spock would be a lost cause. And what a horrific way to go.

The sound of thrashing and growling became louder, McCoy’s curiosity getting the best of him as he quickly glanced to M’Benga and his full blooded Vulcan patient. He could see the struggle he and the three other doctors were having. Six hands pressing down the Vulcan onto the bed, his restraints being tested as he fought for his freedom.

It didn’t sound like english, and it didn’t sound like Vulcan either. McCoy tried to decipher what was being said, his head snapping back to Spock as he listened to Sovik’s snarling, and M’Benga’s order for another shot to subdue Sovik.

“98, Doctor.” Christine sighed, her eyes lifting to McCoy.

Should he risk putting Spock under on some drug to help him forget the pain? Should he risk Spock having a stroke or seizure when he was unable to wake up? His temperature would continue to raise in his sleep, and therefore, they could not assist him if he should go into cardiac arrest.

“Damn it.” McCoy whispered, bringing up a hypo and shaking it before his eyes; he then injected the hypo into Spock’s left shoulder. “I gave him one shot of the hydration hypos.”

Christine recorded the event, keeping close track to everything the procedure entailed as to Starfleet orders.

“McCoy, we’re experiencing a fever of 102 over here!” M’Benga reported, smothering Sovik with freezer packs just as McCoy was doing for Spock.

“99, Doctor.” Christine continued.

“SPOOOOOCCCCK!” Sovik managed to shriek out from his position on the bed, successfully flinging one of the doctors back into a desk, knocking half of its contents off onto the floor.

Two nearby security officers approached the scene, grabbing hold of both Sovik’s arms, and pinning him to the bed intensely.

“Four CCs Melorazine!” M’Benga ordered loudly, “Where is my Melorazine!”

One of the nurses hurried from the side room where Christine often went in order to mix hypos. This nurse looked particularly concerned, almost as if she feared the sight in front of her. Still, she performed her duty admirably, handing M’Benga the device sternly.

Through all the commotion, McCoy could still hear the subtle hiss of the hypospray going into Sovik’s body. The room slowly became more quiet, only the sound of heavy breathing, and Spock’s whimpers could now be heard. Curiously, Spock seemed to get more silent as Sovik drifted off into his deep sleep.

Spock dropped his hand to his side, his eyes open again but not seeing. As McCoy studied the readings above Spock’s head he noticed the way the pain levels steadily increased, yet the body temperature began to stabilize. He dropped both eyes in astonishment… that was not how fevers like this worked.

“His body temperature is stabilizing,” Christine pointed out, McCoy’s brows lowering in irritation.

“I can see that, nurse.” McCoy straightened himself out, looking down at Spock’s miserable eyes. He could not fathom what was happening before him.

“Turn the temperature down by ten.” McCoy announced to nobody in particular. His gaze never left Spock. He blinked in disbelief, hearing Christine say something and then scamper off to carry out his previous orders no doubt.

“Spock.” McCoy muttered sympathetically, watching the pain levels increase little by little, and his heart rate stabilize at an extremely high rate. “If you only had red blood like the rest of us..” He trailed off so quietly to himself that not another soul could catch on to what he was saying.

Spock’s eyes turned slightly to McCoy’s, his breathing so heavy and laboured at this point, McCoy wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He didn’t want to appear anxious in front of his patient, nor raise concern in Spock. But those readings were so unexpected, so difficult to understand. It was hard not to look at Spock as though he didn’t know a single thing that was going on.

 _‘I don’t know how to fix you,’_ McCoy imagined himself saying… imagined those being the last words Spock would hear.

“The temperature has dropped, Doctor.” Christine announced, standing at Spock’s side as she had done many times in the past.

Vulcan’s couldn’t feel… that’s what Spock had told McCoy countless times before. But when McCoy looked down at Spock, with the memory of what it said on the readings above his head…. it was difficult to not see some type of fear or sadness in those eyes. Did Spock _feel_ betrayal? Did he feel betrayed that _he_ had to experience this trauma? Or was Spock the stubborn Vulcan he always was and would be, and taken it to avoid another experiencing it in his place?

McCoy was somewhat sure he knew the answer.

Yet, no patient of his who had gone through a somewhat relatable situation as this, had felt relieved. None of them trotted off healed with bandages and hypos… there were scars McCoy couldn’t reach--ones that he was sure Spock would never look over again… but would always feel.

And it was that that made McCoy close his eyes to avoid the sight before him.

“Make up another one of those hypos I instructed you to mix when I first got here.” McCoy huffed out, eyes still closed.

“But, Sir?” Christine argued again.

“Damn it, oman! Do you want me to repeat every order I give you?” McCoy gritted his teeth, watching those blue eyes widen under his gaze.

A moment of silence fell between them, McCoy’s hands gripping the blanket under Spock’s body.

“No, Sir. I will get the hypo.” Christine replied, walking off into the room the last nurse had just exited.

“Hartmen.” McCoy signaled for another nurse to come to his side, one he knew M’Benga could spare. “Get a regulation hospital gown for both these patients.” Just as Hartmen nodded and went on his way, McCoy called after him again. “And a blanket, Nurse… get Spock a blanket.”

-

 

 _“I hate you!”_ Jim clenched his jaw so powerfully, his entire neck and head was throbbing. He clenched the tricorder strap in his fists, pulling them tighter to secure it around the pale green flesh beneath him.

Sovik grunted, his eyes turning back, body thrashing as he tried to catch a taste of the air around him-- air Jim was forcefully holding back from the Vulcan’s lungs.

But Jim didn’t care. He wanted to see Sovik squirm, to see him try to gain some form of freedom he was not allowed to experience. Spock had suffered a similar demise no doubt, over and over again at the hands of this monster. It was only fitting to see Sovik endure the same. He wanted those marks to burn into his skin the same way they had burned into Spock’s.

“ _What you did to Spock is unforgivable! He’s never going to forget what you’ve done! Never! Those scars are going to be there for life!”_ Jim cried out, no tears to claim for his own. He simply felt his throat restricting painfully as he tried to hold back his emotions. He owed it to Spock to be strong.

Sovik’s body violently shook, his hands rising up to try and gain any sort of purchase of Jim. His fingers knotted into the black shirt Jim was wearing. He did not care. At the moment, all Jim could think about was how rewarding it would feel to see Sovik cold and unconscious on the hard floor beneath them.

“ _You sick bastard!”_ Jim growled, shaking the strap strongly, his own hands beginning to hurt from the tight hold he had on the black leather strips in his hands.

Suddenly, Sovik’s body went rigid. It was somewhat unexpected as Jim had thought that Sovik would have gone lax rather than stiff in his dying moments. But no… Sovik was rock hard, fingers frozen against his shirt.

Jim swallowed hard, loosening the material around his neck slightly, then watching as Sovik slowly closed his eyes.

_“Jim, please. Stop.”_

Jim’s heart skipped a beat at Sovik’s words. They did not sound like they had belonged to the Vulcan. It hadn’t seemed like Sovik had even opened his mouth to speak them. When Jim blinked again, he felt his heart completely cease its rhythmic thumping. Could it be?

He pulled his hands away from the straps in his hands like they were scolding hot. His eyes blurred for a moment almost as though he couldn’t believe what we was seeing. His stomach began to twitch and quake, almost as if he were going to expel its contents onto the cabin floor where he had dropped the noose.

Tears automatically fell from his eyes. He couldn’t contain his emotions any longer, for there on the floor was his best friend… cold and dead.

On the ground where he had just dropped Sovik, was Spock’s body, relaxed and blissfully _resting_ … the tricorder strap still securely wrapped around his throat. Jim could not form the words he wished to. He couldn’t manage to move his tongue in any way that would make logical sense. Instead he gawked at the murder he had committed.

 _“Spock_ ,” He silently whispered, kneeling down onto the ground, his fingers trembling as they moved to connect with any part of Spock’s body… any part at all. And when he finally found Spock’s nearest arm, he instantly brought his hand to Spock’s, clasping it protectively.

The gesture was meaningless, given that he had caused this all to happen. This ugly demise was no one else’s fault but his own, and yet he still could not comprehend that.

Slowly, the stinging in his hand was prominent again, almost as if he was still holding the tricorder strap tightly like he had been when he forced the life out of his good friend.

He lifted his hand to inspect it, only to see it covered in green, one central area where it was steadily seeping from… a large incision down the palm.

_Deep, painful, and feeling all too real…_

Jim woke up with a start, his lungs almost hurting from the way he was forcing himself to breathe. It hurt his chest, his arms, his neck, but most of all he felt the searing agony pounding away at his head.

Eventually, he regained more consciousness, discovering his surroundings in greater detail. The light colours of sickbay came into the forefront as Jim settled against the back wall. His head leaning back into it as well.

“Captain Kirk?” A female voice gently prodded from his right side, yet his body and mind were in such agony, he could not focus enough energy to turn his head and formally acknowledge her. Instead he closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and then gently bowed his head to indicate he was listening.

His head spun, his mind still wondering what he had just envisioned and what exactly it meant for Spock and himself. His stomach turned in disgust as he remembered the way Spock appeared when he had died… the way he looked like he was sleeping, but would never again awaken.

“Where’s Spock?” Jim asked completely lacking in breath. He could barely manage to say those words, his voice completely consumed by the fear and shock of what he had just seen.

“Shh,” The nurse continued, taking hold of one of Jim’s hands, his energy depleted too much to pull it away. “Everything is okay.”

Moments passed as Jim settled himself. He inhaled deeply, reminding himself how to breathe. As his respiratory system rebooted, his mind began to as well… No, Spock wasn’t dead. Sovik was detained… and Jim had not been the cause of all of it.

Or had he been?

Jim felt like a knife was turning in his stomach, shredding his conscience severely. He felt _guilty_ for what had happened to Spock. He wasn’t the one to physically hold him down or take advantage of him, but what precautions had he taken to truly avoid this whole situation? Jim had felt the insecurity surrounding Sovik and yet he did nothing to ensure the safety of his ship, but most importantly his first officer, Spock.

He shook his head, feeling the nausea building again, his eyes falling closed. He might as well have been the one with his hands around Spock’s neck-- or might as well have been holding him down. He hadn’t done anything to assist Spock out of this situation.

“Captain, Kirk?” The nurse tried again, “Everything is fine. Commander Spock is still under Doctor McCoy’s care.”

As he listened to her voice, he became more aware of who was speaking. He turned to face Malena wit a squint. Her brown eyes peering back at him concernedly.

“I’m … in sickbay.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Jim relaxed into the bed, his left hand resting over his stomach as he gained his mental composure.

“Yes, you are.” She smirked, “I gave you a shot of this,” She motioned to the hypo in her hand, shaking it for emphasis. “It was to take away some of those symptoms of your concussion, and somewhat relax you.”

Jim exhaled sternly, bringing his hand up to his forehead. “Well, I think it did quite the opposite.”

She nodded her head, “It does have a tendency to stir up some darker dreams, unfortunately. No remedy is perfect I suppose.” She gave him a sympathetic look before switching the monitor back on.

“No, no… not just that.” Jim ran his hand through his hair, pushing it from his sweat slicked forehead. “My head...”

“It still hurts.” Malena finished for him, her eyes looking up towards the screen. “The pain levels seem to have decreased, but not to where they should be.” She sighed, her eyes squinting in somewhat disbelief.

They remained quiet for a moment, Jim’s breathing finally under control.

“No remedy is perfect.” Jim reminded the nurse, sitting up fully and turning his legs off the edge of the bed.

“Well, they good thing is that your concussion shouldn’t give you the spins anymore, even though it’s not gone.” She smiled, leaning on the bed to look at Jim’s eyes more intimately.

Jim turned away from them, looking off toward the door leading to McCoy’s office.

“Captain Kirk.” She spoke just as Jim stood up. Her hand instantly caught his shoulder as he wobbled. “I know it might be difficult at the moment, especially with what you’ve just been through… but try and get some sleep.”

Their eyes met. She looked at him sincerely, linking her arm with his before turning to the door Jim was evidently heading towards before she stopped him. Though Jim didn’t desperately require her assistance, he still felt a strange sense of comfort from it.

“I will analyze that pain you keep talking about. But I think it will be something I’ll have to refer you to Doctor McCoy for.” She gave him a sympathetic look before letting the doors open for Jim to enter through. “Goodbye, Captain.”

The doors closed behind him, his mind still thinking about the dream he had just encountered moments ago. What was even more disturbing than the sight of his dead friend, was the anger he had harboured for Sovik that had caused it.. the way he was absolutely capable of killing Sovik. He was sure of it… why else did he feel the burning need to run into where Sovik was _‘sleeping’_ and give it to him?

However, if his dream was meant to be taken in some literal sense, then perhaps that was not the most effective way to go about this situation. Perhaps, harming Sovik was in some way going to harm Spock. Sovik had mentioned some details about Spock being his bondmate, and his plan to make that official on Vulcan.

Jim stepped further into the room, looking up from the floor and suddenly finding a familiar face peering back up at him. His heart was suddenly in his throat, attempting to choke him out before he said anything he would soon regret.

“Rebecca.” He greeted bitterly.

She bowed her head, looking down at a series of test tubes and PADD’s on the table. The computer screen McCoy usually filed his reports on to send to Starfleet was turned in her direction, lighting up the side of her face.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, crossing his hands lazily over his chest.

Her gaze turned up to Jim’s, her cheeks burning red.

“I… I came to support everyone.” She mumbled, putting the PADD on sleep mode.

Jim snorted humorously before taking a chair across the desk from her. He looked down at the work in front of her, one of the glass tubes looking awfully familiar.

“I think you’re doing more than trying to redeem your name.” He raised his brow, the sight of Spock’s green blood floating in the container giving him chills after what he had just witnessed in his sleep.

“I’m not redeeming anything, Captain.” Her hands clenched on top of the desk, her teeth gritted together as she tried to remain composed. “I’m looking over Spock and Sovik’s blood samples.”

Jim bit his cheek, trying hard not to blow up at the fact that she was continually looking out for a man as monstrous as Sovik. When Jim put the entire thing in perspective, he couldn’t decipher who he hated more… the man who had tormented his good friend, or the woman who helped close the curtains to hide the evidence.

When Jim didn’t reply right away, Rebecca turned back to her work, bunching her hair into her fist at the back of her head, and twisting it to create a large bun. Yet, without the use of a mirror or brush, many of the strands had been missed; however Jim could tell Rebecca cared very little for perfection at the moment. She likely only wished for those strands to be removed from her vision.

Jim closed his eyes, leaning back into his chair. As he did so, he couldn’t help but think of the horrid image of Spock laying in his quarters, Sovik on top of him with the strap tied viciously around his neck.

He forced the memory away. He didn’t want to think of Spock like that. It was hard enough to deal with the images he saw moments ago, but to consider about what had actually become of Spock’s reality was even more terrifying in ways.

Feelings of guilt sprung up deep within his gut. The reason Spock had been in that position last night was because he had left him. He had gone to retrieve the chess board and pieces… he hadn’t thought for a moment that perhaps Sovik would try and approach him again. But he should have known. He should have thought clearer when he had saw Sovik in the recreational room. He goaded him on… he challenged Sovik to try one more time.

Jim’s head fell into his hands, massaging his eyes tenderly before taking a deep breath in. He couldn’t believe how much he had been responsible for. He couldn’t believe he had caused so much hurt in Spock’s life.

Had Jim stayed with Spock, ignored the Rebecca’s cry and returned straight to Spock’s quarters, he would have been there in time to catch Sovik. He could have prevented the horrific sight he walked in on.

“Have you heard anything about Spock’s condition from Bones?” Jim asked, looking up to Rebecca aggravatedly.

“Bones?” She repeated questioning Jim’s nickname.

Jim peered at her for a long moment before, turned his chair away from her. His hands firm on his lap. “Never mind.”

“No one came in here and told me anything about their conditions, Captain. I heard screaming, and yelling at one point, but that was a while back. They told me I couldn’t come in.” She explained sadly.

“Screaming?” Jim asked in surprise. Cold, sad, surprise.

She nodded her head. “I think it was Sovik, but there were so many voices…” She trailed off, looking down at the blood samples guiltily.

The room was silent for a moment.

Jim shook his head gently, “I’m not going to avoid the subject,” Jim started up again. “I need to get some answers from you.”

Her eyes widened; it was blatantly obvious that she wished to simply disappear. Anywhere would have been an improvement from her current location. And Jim loved her discomfort, almost as much as his dream self enjoyed his revenge on Sovik.

“What… what do you mean?” She asked dumbly, trying to avoid eye contact by turning her chair slightly towards the door.

“About Sovik!” Jim slammed his fist to the table. “You know exactly the questions I want answered!”

She turned toward him suddenly with the sound of his fists against the table. Her eyes watched his hands fearfully before slowly trailing her gaze back towards his eyes. They hardened. “I don’t know, Captain Kirk! What makes you think I know everything?!” She shouted back, standing up to measure up physically with Jim. “What makes you think I’m not questioning things myself?”

“Because if you took a moment to question something, you would have looked at what Sovik was doing, and you would have felt _remorse!_ ” Jim gritted his teeth, “You would have looked at Sovik and you would have felt disgusted at what you saw and how you did nothing to stop it!”

She was silent again, her nostrils flaring as she stared at Jim. Tears were building in her eyes, causing them to gloss over.

“You’re acting like me seeing what he did to Spock didn’t hurt me,” She exclaimed, trying to fight the tears that had already begun rolling down her cheek. “You’re acting like what I saw in the lab was nothing new to me.”

“Any sane person would feel hurt from seeing the way Spock was following the day Sovik…” Jim tried to find the word to suffice for what Sovik had done. He couldn’t not find the proper word to use, all of them felt to tame to use, and yet all of them felt to harsh to say.

“Captain, I _am_ sane. I _do_ feel remorse, and guilt. But at the same time, I had no other choice!” She cried, bunching her hands into fists. “Sovik was going to kill you. He was going to kill me. He would kill anybody who got in between him and Spock.”

“But _why,_ Rebecca?! Why didn’t you tell any of us about this potential danger?!” Jim demanded, never backing down as he glared at the woman before him.

“Because it was too dangerous to tell!” She answered back, her tone just as rough and stern as his. “Because you wouldn’t understand anything I have to say! You wouldn’t understand Sovik’s needs and his desires!”

“So you thought it would be okay for Spock to take the hit? For Spock’s needs and desires to be completely obliterated for Sovik?” Jim barked back, feeling his blood boil through his veins. “You know what I think?”

Rebecca remained silent, biting on her bottom lip angrily as she watched Jim’s eyes search her own.

“I think you might as well have been in there holding Spock down while Sovik shattered his life.” He bit back, feeling his own heart shatter at the thought of it, and how true he felt those words.

A hand quickly was raised into the air, and before Jim could make another comment, it was connecting painfully against his cheek, leaving a burning stinging sensation in its wake.

“You bastard!” She cried, the tears falling onto the desk below her, her own hand no doubt stinging something fierce from having hit Jim’s face so hard.

Just as Jim opened his mouth, the doors opened to McCoy’s office. In the entrance stood McCoy and a security office, both looking quite alarmed at the both of them. The security officer pointed his phaser at Rebecca, specifically set to low stun.

“Jim?” McCoy sighed, looking at the way Rebecca was crying and the way Jim’s cheek was burning red. He didn’t need any more information to piece this puzzle together.

Jim relaxed slightly as Rebecca fell into the chair with both hands covering her face tightly. She sobbed quietly into her palms. When things had calmed for a moment, Jim motioned for the officer to exit the room, looking over at McCoy in aggravation.

“What the hell is going on in here, Jim?” McCoy asked, approaching Jim with a look of disappointment on his face.

“We were just talking.” Jim replied, looking down at Rebecca who now buried her head in her arms above the desk.

“Well, your conversation was definitely heard out there.” McCoy motioned behind toward the open med bay behind him which he had just left. “And let me tell you Jim, that wasn’t just talking.”

“We were talking about Spock.” Jim stressed, as if that was enough of an explanation for what had just transpired.

“Well you sure weren’t discussing the weather!” McCoy grumbled, pulling the gloves he was wearing over his hands off and disposing of them in a near by dispenser.

Jim fixed his tunic, relaxing his muscles further before speaking again. “How are they, Doctor? Both of them.”

Rebecca’s head lifted, her eyes red and dripping as she tried to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

“I’m not going to lie to you both,” McCoy said, searching his desk for a tissue, and then handing it over to Rebecca with very little sympathy. “It really doesn’t look good.”

“For Sovik?” Rebecca asked, her eyes large.

“For both of them.” McCoy answered, shaking his head slightly. “They both have this incredible fever I’ve never seen before! We nearly lost them both a while back. Their temperatures were so high we ran out of freezer packs to cover them.”

“A fever?” Jim questioned.

McCoy nodded, “It’s very peculiar, Jim. And Spock keeps reacting to the medicine I give him.”

The two of them watched as McCoy took a seat next to where Jim was standing, his eyes looking at the blood samples on the table quizzically. “I’m starting to run out of ideas, Jim. There’s no way I can identify this substance, and I can’t seem to find something that likes Spock’s unique physiology _and_ that cursed thing running rampant through him.” He swallowed hard.

“Bones,” Jim turned toward him, hands reaching forward for his shoulders. “You’ve got to try everything. You’re my Chief Medical Officer. If anybody can figure this out it’s got to be you.”

“But I can’t seem to understand it, Jim,” McCoy looked back to him, his eyes harbouring such anguish at what he was admitting. “I’ve tried it all, and just when I think I start to get it, I get surprised with another medical emergency.”

The room was silent for a short while as McCoy collected himself silently. His blue eyes looked away from Jim, studying the way Rebecca guiltily watched him.

“There’s one thing that might be able to save them.” McCoy said, his eyes connecting with hers, “And that’s the truth, Rebecca. I need to know more about Sovik’s medical history.”

“I don’t know anything about…” She started, her voice annoyed and seemingly finished with the conversation.

“It might save Sovik’s life,” McCoy insisted, “And we all know how much his safety and well being means to you.”

Rebecca closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath through her nose.

“He’s very sick.” She finally decided on saying, her eyes still closed. “But he wasn’t always sick.”

“Sick, how so?” McCoy asked, raising his brow curiously.

Tears continued down her face as she opened her eyes, and peered up toward the ceiling. “Sick as in… not himself.”

Jim took the seat next to McCoy, his eyes trained on Rebecca steadily.

“I met him years before we set off on our journey to Stronos. He was thoroughly impressed by my work, and he informed me about his trip to there. It was a sort of expedition project in search of new materials, minerals… the usual.” She sighed, closing her eyes tightly. “And that’s where I met T’Leia. Sovik and I travelled with a small team to Stronos. T’Leia was already on the planet when we got there. The two of them … they were incredible. I mean, truly caring and understanding individuals…”

“Who’s T’Leia?” McCoy asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Sovik’s bondmate, Bones.” Jim answered, leaning in to hear the rest of what Rebecca had to say. “So when did things start changing?”

“Well, we were on the planet for a while, a few months maybe, when things started to get ... _strange_. T’Leia started acting out, becoming more irritable and angry as time went on. I remember she had been working, and Sovik made a remark regarding her temper, and she got so heated, she started physically trying to bite him.” She shook her head. “And it was astonishing to see such a creature of logic behaving in such a hostile way.”

“When I first approached Sovik on the subject, he assured me that everything was alright. He promised me things were just fine with T’Leia! I had no reason to really wonder or be worried, because Sovik cared about T’Leia. He cared about me… he told me everything was fine and…”

“You just believed him.” McCoy finished for her, watching as she slowly nodded her head.

“One night,” Rebecca continued, speaking through new tears, “T’Leia became so uncontrollable, that she could no longer function in a group environment. It was not that long ago in fact, and on this particular evening, Sovik told me he was going to take T’Leia out to the mountains, and try and work things out with her. He told me to take over the project and to not tell another person on the team of what was happening.”

Jim and McCoy shared an uneasy glance to one another.

“He came back, three days later.” Rebecca sighed, closing her eyes again. “And Vulcans can’t cry, and maybe they can’t feel sadness, but when I saw Sovik coming down that mountain that night without his T’Leia… my heart broke in two. He looked devastated.”

“What did he tell you?” Jim asked, automatically assuming Sovik had killed his bondmate.

“He told me not to be afraid. He told me T’Leia had died, and that I should tell nobody any of the details. When I asked what happened, he refused to tell me, and to this day I don’t know what ever happened to her.” She explained miserably.

“Then things changed for Sovik as well.” She sighed, looking off toward the back wall nervously, and yet with shame. “About a month after he took over T’Leia’s station with the new material and the new plants, Sovik began to turn in on himself. He was becoming cold, and unenthusiastic about his work. But what was even worse was the way he started snapping at the crew. No one could get near him to talk to him. He had become so … devastated I assumed, that he hated everyone’s company but my own.”

“I remember one particular discussion with him, Sovik had told me how much this project meant to him. He told me how important it was to the Federation and most importantly to T’Leia. He was like a father to me, and so hearing this, I felt like I had to do _something_ ,” Her expression turned darker, her tears vanishing from her eyes as though petrifying fear had shaken them away. She blankly stared across the room.

“Then we got the word that your ship was coming.” She took in a deep breath, finally looking at Jim, “And Sovik told me something I’ll never forget.”

“What did he say?” Jim pressured when she had taken longer than expected to continue. “What did Sovik say?!”

“He told me… he told me he was going through a fever… fon parr, par fonn,” She tried to remember, squinting at her failing memory.

“Pon Farr..” Both Jim and McCoy answered at the same time, both their thoughts reverting to those brutal days when Spock had gone through his own cycle of heat. He had become angry, violent, irrational, but above all, he became an animal surviving on instincts and desires alone.

“That’s right,” Rebecca nodded, looking down in her lap shamefully, “He didn’t tell me much about it, other than I wasn’t allowed to tell anybody. He figured the Federation wouldn’t accept his and T’Leia’s work if they knew, and he didn’t want to divert the ship to Vulcan. I suppose that’s something Vulcans need during that time of their life.”

McCoy sighed, “So you put the entire ship in danger because it would look bad on the Renneral? However, completely traumatizing our first officer and science officer makes your work look very admirable.”

“No, that wasn’t the only reason. Sovik had … tried to do the same thing he did with Spock but with me. I … I started to fear Sovik. He started threatening me, but I thought the world of him at the same time! He wanted this matter dealt with privately, and when we returned to Earth he was going to work out this issue with a healer.” She argued, tears beginning to fall once again, “And I wanted this for him. I wanted Sovik to have happiness and to have his dignity. He did so much for me. It’s not his fault that he’s going through this!”

“That’s not a good enough reason to put my ship in danger!” Jim lowered his brows defensively, his arms crossing again. “You put my ship in danger to make Sovik look good… That’s something I can’t accept.”

“The Renneral was T’Leia’s life’s work, Captain! How could I deny her _and_ Sovik this? How could I take this incredible opportunity away from the Federation?” She asked, becoming increasingly defensive. Suddenly, as though something inside her shifted, her demeanor softened and she became much more sympathetic to those around her. “Sovik wanted this matter dealt with the utmost secrecy. I respected his wishes. And I knew that if I didn’t at least try to help him, nothing would go as planned…”

Jim shook his head, turning his head to look away from her in disgust. He couldn’t comprehend the words coming from her mouth.

“You were scared of Sovik.” McCoy summarized, looking at Rebecca with one brow raised up to the ceiling. Otherwise he looked completely void of emotion.

“He tried to have his way with me, Doctor.” She wiped the tears from under her eyes, trying to avoid the way Jim suddenly turned to look at her. “But it isn’t his fault.”

“But you still did nothing about it!” Jim shouted, clenching his jaw again in anger. “You let Spock feel the pain you thankfully avoided?”

“He was a Vulcan! Sovik said his only chance of survival was with another Vulcan!” She cried back, slamming his palms into the top of the desk, her eyes red from the way she was crying. “Sovik had only days left before he _died_! Did you want that? Did you want me to want that?”

“I didn’t want my first officer to pay the price like he did!” Jim snapped.

Her eyes widened slightly, she began to settle into the chair calmly. She then began to shake her head. “You don’t understand, Captain.” She paused, “I love Sovik. He’s the father I never had. I’d do anything to make sure he carries on in this world. And I think I lost sight of things.”

They were quiet for a few moments, allowing for the new information to seep in. The thoughts regarding Sovik, his past, and the intense question of what had caused all this chaos, swimming painfully in their minds.

“Did Sovik attack Jim that night?” McCoy asked suddenly, peering down to her regretfully. Jim twisted his neck to look away from her. There were still so many questions, and he was sure he’d never get the real answers.

Rebecca looked up at the doctor, her hands in her lap. “He did.” She then turned her eyes away to avoid their reactions to her following statement. “He… he wanted to murder the captain. He did it to make sure Jim wouldn’t… walk in on him.” She mumbled the end of her answer, eyes closing guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology.” Jim replied, his face twisting in disgust. “I want to know why Spock had to go through what he went through. I want to know why I have to transport your sleazy group to Earth.”

“Captain,” She sobbed. “Please know that I can’t stand what has happened. Please know that I’m insanely sorry for what happened.” She wiped her tears. “You don’t know what it felt like to see Sovik the way he was. You don’t know how badly he needed Spock. And you will never know how hard it was to see Spock in the lab the other day… after Sovik left him…”

“What happened in the labs?” Jim asked instantly, his eyes widening at this new revelation he was just now hearing.

“It didn’t just happen once Captain.” She cried, not bothering to wipe these tears from her blushing cheeks. “During that red alert… Spock couldn’t come to the bridge because he was…” She swallowed hard, covering her face in her hands. “And I heard the whole thing happen.”

McCoy instantly turned to Jim, both their hearts throbbing angrily at the thought of someone so close to being able to stop it all, only sitting on the side lines to watch. He could feel McCoy’s detestment of the young lady. He could almost feel McCoy’s teeth aching from how tightly they were being ground together.

“You were the one that called him down there that day.” Jim reminded her. His eyes in thin slits as he accused her.

There was no response.

“You know what.” Jim shook his head, a look of disbelief coming over him. “I’m sticking to my original thought about you. You saw your beloved Sovik was having troubles. He told you he needed a Vulcan to do the job and that you couldn’t tell anybody about it. When you saw Spock you seized your opportunity. You surmised Spock wouldn’t speak a word of it. You called him down there because we all trusted you. You never came forward because you knew Spock would never come forward.” He shook his head disappointedly. “Not until you were cornered.”

“It’s just that… Sovik told me that he needed a Vulcan to meld with, it was part of the process of getting better. When I boarded the ship, Captain, I had no idea he was going to go so far.”

“That’s a lie.” McCoy snorted, “You knew perfectly well what Sovik wanted from Spock. Anybody with eyes could see it.”

“And _you_ didn’t think to do anything about it?” She asked, lowering her brows. When she realized her words had run away from her and left her awkwardly trying to make sense of them, she bowed her head again. “I’m sorry.”

And yet, Jim could not get over the thought of what Rebecca had just said. He remembered the way he caught Sovik undressing Spock with his eyes, how he chose to speak to no one else but Spock. Then he remembered the way Sovik had even gone as far as to grab a hold of Spock’s hand and refuse to let go back in the hall when Spock had fallen ill.

“ _Do not, and I don’t care if you are going to report this or not… Do not lay a hand on my first officer without his permission. In fact, do not lay a hand on any of my crew members without their permission. Do I make myself clear?”_

Jim had said this following that touch, and still they were only words. They weren’t strong arms to shield Spock with. They weren’t barbed wire to fend away the predators. They weren’t an umbrella to stop the rain from falling. They were only words.

They were only words.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I hope it was a satisfying chapter. If there are any further question you want answered about sovik's past or rebecca's past, feel free to let me know! Also I'd love to know what you are thinking so far with the entire thing... what are your guys' thoughts on rebecca, sovik... anything! haaha! If there's something you want to let me know in private, no problem! let me know over email at iamcemxox@gmail.com , or you can always message me over tumblr [here](http://i-am-cem.tumblr.com/) !!! I'm always looking for new blogs to follow and new trek fans to chat with!! :) <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> As I said, if you like what you saw in the art above, you can see more on quietoceanlove's deviantartpage [here](http://quietoceanlove.deviantart.com/) as well follow her on tumblr [here](ietoceanlove.tumblr.com) !!!!
> 
> I hope everyone has a fantastic weekend... if any of my readers are heading off to school again, I wish you all the luck in the world!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, Live Long and Prosper friends!! :D
> 
> (PS, the title is after a song recommended to me by queitoceanlove called neptune by sleeping at last. She rec'd it because it reminded her so much of unforgettable, and she's right, if you want to check that out too!! )


	19. Champagne Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Plaidshirtjimkirk for all her help with this chapter! She edited, and read over it all! This story would not be what it is today without her help... i can never thank her enough. But also I want to thank her for all all her writing because it seriously inspires me! She writes so in character, it honestly helps me understand the characters more! Check out her latest piece [Paths in the Starlight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4572573/chapters/10413417) !
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to RowanBaines for her INCREDIBLE piece of art! I know it doesn't necessarily belong in this chapter... It really belongs in chapter 7 "When I'm Weak" ! BUT I get so excited looking at this piece because a) it's absolutely gorgeous, and b) it's actually a depiction of my most cherished scene in the entire story!!! It was such a lovely surprise! If you like this piece, you will LOVE all of her other work! She's an absolutely incredible artist, and a super nice person with so much talent! Check out more of her stuff or follow her on tumblr [here](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/) Honestly... I could see this being the cover of the entire story... what do you think?? :)
> 
> Finally thank you to my readers! You guys are constantly inspiring me and this story! :) Thank you. <33333
> 
> Live Long and Prosper my friends! I hope you enjoy this crazy chapter!! :D 
> 
> P.S ... all the science components and explanations are from my own knowledge of the brain and it's behavior. If you have any questions, concerns, or corrections, let me know via the comments, email, or tumblr (which will be provided in the end notes!) however, more will be explained in time as the chapters move forward! :)

** **

 

** **

( _Artwork created by: RowanBaines <3 )_

 

 

 

**Champagne Supernova**

 

The dueling taste of rum and whiskey had no bearing on the captain’s mood; that much was clear by the way he swallowed down another glass filled to the brim, his features unflinching. He exhaled through his nose with heavy eyelids. This wasn’t casual drinking for kicks… this drinking was different.

McCoy closed the bottle, setting it inside the cabinet with the others. He looked briefly at Jim in his chair before he took his own seat across the table from him.

“Come on, Jim,” McCoy grumbled, taking his half finished glass, peering inside it before bringing it to his lips, “I thought removing Rebecca from the room would brighten you up.” He finally took another long swig, placing the drink back down to the table.

Jim lifted his head, looking at the doctor with distant eyes—eyes that were usually ridden with confidence and passion, but were now sluggish and cold. And frankly, after what McCoy had seen, he was not surprised.

Even with the remark McCoy had posed, Jim did not speak, he simply toyed with the empty shot glass in front of him, silently admiring how against the light it took on a multitude of beautiful colours.

McCoy sighed, pushing his glass to the side. “You know she’s lying, Jim. You know it’s not your fault what happened to Spock. She’s being defensive, trying to get us doubting ourselves so we don’t doubt her,” he explained heatedly, remembering the way Rebecca had tried to blame the whole ordeal between Spock and Sovik on them. She was trying to pin the blame where ever it would stick.

Jim nodded his head, clearly remembering what he’d just been thinking. He slowly peered up toward McCoy, then turned his chair slightly to the left to avoid direct visual contact.

“Rebecca was wrong, Bones,” Jim agreed, folding his hands together, “And yet, I feel somewhat responsible for what happened.”

“I _know,_ Jim. And it’s not right for you to feel that way,” McCoy continued, picking up his drink once more.

“And what did I do to stop any of it?!” Jim asked angrily, pushing both his hands into the table, causing McCoy to pause with his glass halfway to his lips. Jim looked over the doctor’s curious expression. “What did I _do_ when I saw all the blatantly obvious signs?"

McCoy didn’t answer right away, shifting his blue eyes away from Jim as he pursed his lips.

“Nothing,” Jim answered for him, settling back into his chair, once again turning it slightly askew to avoid seeing his friend’s reaction to his failure. “I did absolutely nothing.”

“That’s not true,” McCoy replied, “You saw the signs. You were angered by what you suspected but your position on this ship prevented you from acting out on any of those suspicions. Besides Jim, what _were_ these signs?”

Jim shivered as he recalled them all, starting with the moment he walked through Spock’s door the morning after he’d gotten the bump on the head, which he now knew to be an attack from Sovik.

“It was the way Spock acted, the way things didn’t add up, and the way Sovik behaved around Spock. Anybody could have guessed what was going on,” Jim insisted, leaning his head back to peer upward to the ceiling.

“And yet nobody did, Jim,” McCoy reminded him, feeling almost guilty himself for what Jim was going through. How he was placing so much of the blame on himself. Nobody could carry that much regret and shame with them. Nobody. “Now that you know what happened, it’s easy to look back and put the pieces together, but at the time, nobody suspected that Sovik was attacking Spock. Nobody would have guessed it. You’re taking too much responsibility for something you had nothing to do with.”

“Nothing to do with?” Jim asked, looking at McCoy defensively. “Bones, he trusted me. He came to my room the following day asking to sleep on my couch because he didn’t want to go back to his room. He trusted me, and I didn’t even try to investigate what went on.”

“Damn it, Jim! You’re not at fault! If you think you’re the one responsible for all this, then I’m just as guilty as you are!” McCoy argued in an equally as stern tone. “I performed the exam on your head, I examined Spock, and I didn’t see any signs of either one of you being attacked by Sovik in any way. And when you insisted, I denied it! And you know why, Jim?”

This time it was Jim’s turn not to answer, his sights intense on McCoy.

“Because nobody suspected it, nobody wanted to suspect it, and nobody could do a damn thing about it until it was obvious,” McCoy finished, his tone fading into something much more comforting.

Jim leaned back into his chair, looking away from McCoy, his mind still reeling about all the warning signs he’d missed the opportunity of acting upon. The way Spock refused to eat, the way he lashed out at Uhura, the way he avoided all contact with everyone, the way he suddenly avoided Jim...

“Now, we can blame the entire ship if you’re up for it, Jim, but I think there’s more important things to focus our time and energy on,” McCoy exhaled, clearing the table of their glasses. “I think it’s about time to give Sovik and Spock another shot. Would you like to come?”

For a brief moment, Jim didn’t feel much of anything, his heart still heavy with what felt like grief and guilt. As he allowed McCoy’s words to sink in, he realized the tremendous power of them. McCoy was about to let him see Spock.

 _Spock_.

Excitement was one term that represented what Jim was feeling, however, it wasn’t entirely fitting. Part of him felt something he couldn’t put into words, something that felt wrong considering, but was true none the less.

He felt scared.

Why should he feel scared? It wasn’t like he was in any sort of danger. There was nothing that put his life in jeopardy or any reason to be threatened. And yet he felt this looming gloom that he couldn’t understand.

Perhaps, it was for the fact that Spock’s condition was in the red. Nobody was entirely sure what he was dying of, and the thought of something foreign swimming in his veins made the idea even more dire.

And still, there was a sense of excitement. The same feeling of completeness Jim had whenever he got the chance to breathe the same atmosphere as Spock. To see Spock, to hear him, feel him… it made him feel whole. He longed to be in the same room as Spock, to go in and simply inspect his friend’s wounds.

There was something else bothering Jim… something he wasn’t sure of just yet.

Sovik had said many things during their exchange, many of which were concerning. However, when Sovik had referenced a bond between Spock and himself, it became that much more alarming. What bond? Spock and he had never melded long enough for Spock to even have that option.

But, if there was some sort of ethereal link between their minds, Jim felt an instinct to bring them closer together. Though it appeared selfish of him, he still had this instinct to diminish the distance between their minds. It would allow Jim to shield Spock, and do whatever he could to try and comfort him like no one else could.

That was… if Spock would let him.

Jim was uncertain where Spock stood with him. Was he feeling as close as they had been before the RU-598 group appeared in their lives? Were they still this incredible force, two halves of one whole? Or, had Spock felt that to be his obligation? Had Jim forced himself into Spock’s world as well? If so, how different was he from Sovik?

Jim shut his eyes, trying to dispel his thoughts. None of it mattered. None of it. There was only one thing at the present time that concerned Jim. The only thing he could bring himself to care about was that Spock kept breathing. As long as he was doing that, he would find a way to make everything else make sense.

Jim nodded his head to McCoy, standing up alongside the doctor. As McCoy began moving out of the room, Jim followed, his heart practically beating right out of his chest, unsure what he was going to see.

As well, he hadn’t forgotten about the other person residing in Spock’s room. Visiting Spock meant he’d have to visit Sovik too. McCoy had explained that they seemed to wake up simultaneously with one another, and it required both his and M’Benga’s attention. Ironically, keeping them in the same room was their best chance for survival at this point.

Still, Jim was fuming over this fact. If Jim could do anything for Spock, it would be to remove him from Sovik’s presence—to take him away from the unwilling situation of being a couple feet away from his rapist. He _knew_ Spock wouldn’t want this. And if that was the case, then it shouldn’t be this way.

For whatever reason, the silence in the room shocked Jim. There was only the steady beeping noise, coming from both the monitors above their beds. It was also quite dim in the room, causing Jim to feel a sort of tension and insecurity the deeper he journeyed in.

Heat slowly rised within him as well, the mere thought of such a horrific predator resting in the bed across from Spock was causing his blood to boil intensely. He could safely say he detested the man, hated him for what he’d put Spock through, and yet he tried to bite back his anger. He wanted to make his presence a calming one.

McCoy immediately went to Spock’s side, looking over some of the vital signs, recording the information on his PADD. After a few minutes, McCoy raised his head, slowly turning back to look at Jim. He raised a brow, “You can come in, you know.”

And it was then that Jim realized he hadn’t really journeyed that far at all. He was only a few steps in before he’d stopped to stare at Spock’s bed with fear.

He swallowed, pushing himself to go on until finally he was at McCoy’s side, looking down at Spock’s sleeping form, looking beaten and bruised from the way he’d been handled by Sovik.

It was truly disturbing to see him like this, bruises he’d noticed when bringing him to sickbay, were now dark against his pale green skin. Spock’s skin was always flawless, so smooth and free of blemishes or injury. It made the sight that much more infuriating.

He felt strange, and somewhat awkward peering down at Spock with such emotion, when Spock would never be aware of it. He knew that if Spock had, he would make some comment in regards to how illogical it was for Jim to be so distraught over something he’d no control over. And though those types of words irritated the doctor, Jim found a strange sense of comfort from them.

He felt a sense of comfort from _Spock._

As if McCoy had nailed him in the side of the neck with a hypo spray full of some magical serum to calm his nerves, Jim felt the tension slowly unfurl. Maybe it had been the alcohol that was finally taking _some_ effect on him, but Jim found that unlikely. He felt sudden contentment at Spock’s side.

Jim stood there, his lips in a thin line as he watched his friend. His hand moved forward, fingers twitching to touch Spock, but he faltered before he could actually do it. Was he allowed? Was this okay, to touch Spock like this? His eyes automatically sought outMcCoy, a sense of angst within them, almost as if asking the doctor if he could touch him.

McCoy simply nodded, and watched as Jim’s hand touched the blanket covering Spock’s torso. His fingers gently travelled upward, going to the side of Spock’s face so gently it almost appeared as though he didn’t make contact at all. He then brushed Spock’s bangs downward, just how Spock liked it.

A faint tug pulled at the corner of McCoy’s lips as he watched how gentle and caring Jim had suddenly become at Spock’s side... how he used the back of his fingers to pet over the bangs he had just smoothed down. Anybody with a brain cell could understand the love these two shared… and for that reason, McCoy’s heart pained for what Spock had to go through and in turn, how that affected Jim.

Jim noticed McCoy had stopped what he was doing to stare at him. He looked over at the doctor, a shy expression on his face. His hand came off of Spock a second later, and planted itself on the edge of the bed, his sullen eyes refocusing on Spock.

Embarrassed, McCoy hopped back to work. He didn’t want to be prying into other people’s affairs, even if it _was_ Jim and Spock’s. He turned back to his PADD and began recording the readings.

McCoy’s brow raised. The pain levels on Spock’s meter had dropped from the moment Jim had joined them. He peered back toward Jim, who was pulling Spock’s thin blanket further up his body, making sure he was comfortable.

Just then, Christine entered, a tray in her hand. “I brought the hypos you requested,” she informed McCoy calmly, her eyes meeting Jim’s briefly. “Captain,” she greeted, but no smile was present on either of their faces.

Jim simply bowed his head once at her.

“Thank you, Nurse. Leave this one on the table, and administer Sovik’s dose,” McCoy ordered, watching as she placed the tray on the surface as instructed. McCoy took the hypospray in his hand, looking it over for the correct dose.

“Doctor,” Christine interrupted, “Sovik has already received his dose. The doctor’s just left moments before you arrived.”

“Thank you, Nurse,” McCoy turned back to the hypo in his hand, bringing it to Spock’s shoulder. It hissed on its way in, Spock’s body flinching as it went through him. Half a second afterward, Spock’s respiratory rate increased, his body twitching in the process. It was enough to be noticeable.

“What did you just give him?” Jim asked, tone almost hostile. The captain appeared to be shocked by the reaction.

“The only thing we _can_ give him.” McCoy explained. “Now, I don’t know if it’s because of his mixed biology, or the fact that his blood is crawling with that … _stuff._ But he isn’t taking to any of our medication. He keeps having reactions to it.”

Jim watched Spock shake, looking almost as though he were cold. He felt cold himself just watching the colour escape from Spock’s face. “So what does that hypo do?”

“It’s a painkiller that’s going to put him out for a bit until we can figure out a way to clear out that stuff from his system,” McCoy looked almost hopelessly at the screen above Spock’s head.

Of course, with Jim’s _can do_ attitude, he turned to McCoy with a less than enthused expression. He clutched the edge of Spock’s bed, a bitter expression on his face. “You keep calling it ‘stuff,’ Bones. I want to know _what_ it is,” Jim spoke through clenched teeth. He watched McCoy’s guilty expression intensify.

Looking at his friend and good doctor in such a state of remorse, Jim’s hands softened on the blankets, his jaw slowly untensing.

“I have my entire lab working on it around the clock, Jim,” McCoy spoke quietly, avoiding the captain’s eyes and keeping them firmly on Spock. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Jim nodded his head, feeling awkward with himself for getting so upset with his friend. He peered down at Spock again, the twitching still present.

“I’m sorry, Bones.”

“Forget about it,” McCoy insisted, “We’re all under a lot of stress right now. Especially you.”

Jim nodded again.

For a moment they were silent, until Jim uncomfortably shuffled his feet and felt the pressing need to ask McCoy a question. “You said you were essentially putting him under,” Jim began, looking at the doctor now, “Why? Is it because he’s in pain?”

“He’s in pain, yes,” McCoy agreed, “But we decided to keep Spock and Sovik like this due to the telepathic link they share.”

Jim shivered at the thought. He knew from what Spock had vaguely explained to him, that bonding was a joining of the mind, body and soul… something partners did to essentially become one. They shared the burdens of the other and to effortlessly express themselves in a safe environment.

Jim couldn’t imagine sharing all of that with someone like Sovik. A monster, a perpetrator… a rapist.

“What we’re also giving them is sort of a… telepathy numbing serum,” McCoy tried to relay in the simplest way possible. “In Sovik’s worsening condition, we didn’t want to risk Spock or Sovik’s safety by leaving them awake and vulnerable.” _‘Especially Spock,’_ went unsaid.

“So Spock can’t feel any of his bonds at the moment?” Jim questioned, looking over Spock’s placid features.

McCoy shrugged, “I’m not one hundred percent sure what it’s doing for Spock without a Vulcan telepathy specialist. All _I_ know is it numbs neural transference to the extrasensory perception areas of the mind, so that the messages being sent and received are very faint.”

Jim looked blankly at Spock, not giving any hint to his thoughts regarding McCoy’s answer. He wanted to feel relief for that. From what McCoy had said, Spock didn’t feel Sovik bombarding his mind without consent. However, on the other side of the coin, it meant he likely couldn’t feel their alleged _bond._ Whatever that truly amounted to be, he still wasn’t sure. But Jim was beginning to favour the thought of sharing some kind of mental link with Spock and being able to share what couldn’t be outwardly spoken.

“Jim,” McCoy mumbled, looking down at his thumbs. There was so much Jim needed to hear right now. Words of encouragement, that Spock still cared about him, that things would be okay in the end regardless of the end results. It would be okay, because McCoy would make it okay. McCoy still cared about Jim.

McCoy opened his mouth to speak. He was ready to say it, to tell Jim that Spock must have truly loved him, and if things could turn out positively from this experience, McCoy wanted to reassure him that Spock cared about him. And that was okay.

And it was _okay_ for Jim to feel distraught over what happened. To have someone he loved so dearly violated in so many ways, was something he expected Jim to feel furious about. He expected this reaction from Jim, and he also expected in some form for Jim to feel guilt. Though he had a pretty impressive psychology degree, it didn’t take an expert to see this. And though he had absolutely no bearing on the situation between Spock and Sovik, it was still alright for Jim to feel these things.

McCoy’s mouth simply hung open, looking down at Jim’s hands, thinking over the perfect words to relay to his heartbroken friend. There had to be something he could say, something he could do to make Jim comfortable again.

Jim’s fingers twitched, holding back from placing them on Spock’s pale skin... holding back for McCoy’s sake no doubt.

“I need to run some tests,” McCoy lied, grabbing his PADD abruptly from the nightstand, holding it tightly in his hands. “You don’t mind just staying here with him while I go do that, do you?” he asked, already on his way to the door, pretending to busy himself with the notes he had been taking on Spock’s condition.

Jim’s eyes followed McCoy, then dropped to Spock’s simmering body. After a moment, they returned to the doctor. McCoy nodded and took his exit.

The room became even more silent and still. Jim’s heart was racing so fast he felt it in his stomach. He watched Spock, listening to the intake of breaths through his nose and the occasional grunt or moan of discomfort.

It took him a moment to realize what those noises meant, and how they meant Spock wasn’t resting as peacefully as he should..

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked softly, knowing Spock probably couldn’t hear him at the moment. He grabbed hold of one of Spock’s hands, disturbed at how lifeless it was, how the pain Spock was feeling seemed to emanate from it. Jim rested it comfortably over Spock’s chest above the blanket. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, needing to break his own distressing emotional turmoil by trying to soothe Spock’s.

He gently lifted Spock’s head , rearranging the pillow to support his head and neck better.

“How’s that?” he muttered softly, wanting more than anything to lean forward with a kiss, hating that he had that urge. Jim had no right to kiss Spock, not after...not after what Sovik had done. How many kisses had Sovik stolen from Spock? Would they ever hold the same beautiful meaning they were intended for again?  

The room was silent again except for Spock’s breaths being quietly taken and exhaled.

As though there were a pressure building against his chest, Jim felt himself sinking in his own body, his hand coming up to lightly brush Spock’s cheek. He closed his eyes. The silence mixed with Spock’s appearance made the pressure that much more intense.

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered, placing his hand on Spock’s exposed arm. “I’m really sorry for everything.”

Slowly, Spock’s trembling began to subside, fading away until he was resting peacefully once again. It brought a smile to Jim, remembering the way Spock’s face looked the night he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder in the botany room. He recalled the way Spock’s expression became so light in his sleep… how handsome he appeared.

Jim was so deeply infatuated by Spock that he didn’t even realize Christine had poked her head in, catching sight of them and curling her lips in a knowing smile. She even remained like that for a long moment, until she decided to give the two of them privacy yet again.

-

 

Rebecca begged herself to stay asleep, to simply close her eyes and imagine she was back on the planet Stronos, wrapped in Joseph’s loving embrace as they slept. She tried to envision the way the powerful winds, so cold, blew across their tent, and yet how warm she felt against his body.

When she opened her eyes to reveal the chilling, quiet room of her temporary quarters, she flinched in pain, missing the way she would wake up to Joseph. Had her dreams caught her off guard, or  was she having trouble staying asleep? When she peered to her left only to find emptiness, and not the person she desired, she felt a gaping hole forming within herself too.

She missed Joseph.

The scent of his hair, his body, and his cologne was almost the perfect narcotic to lull her to sleep. She could spend each night simply touching that hair, feeling his muscles tense pleasantly against her. She even missed the way he’d wake up with a mouth full of her own hair, and how upset it would make her in the morning, yet now she wondered how she would live without it.

It was incredible how high he was able to take her by a single look, a single breath, a single step. There was nothing that man could do that wasn’t absolute perfection, and when she’d watched him walk away from her that day, it felt almost as though something had snapped, had told her that _she_ had suddenly become insignificant against his beauty. She’d fallen behind, unworthy.

Joseph had every right to leave, and if she’d been in his situation, she would have left too. It was true what he’d accused her of. She’d become obsessed with the Renneral. She’d felt a need to to cover and protect it. Yes, she cared about Sovik… but none as much as she cared about Joseph. She’d understood what Sovik did because Joseph didn’t understand.

Nobody understood.

She felt tears stinging her eyes, painfully building and placing an even greater pressure against the bridge of her nose.

She’d miss Joseph more than she would ever hope to admit, and yet he wasn’t entirely to blame for her grievances. No, Sovik had a part to play in that as well.

Sovik was family, though if he’d been here, and was the Sovik she used to know, she knew he would deny this claim. They were of separate blood, let alone a completely different species. But that was what he’d become to her: family.

Growing up an only child and raised by one parent was not an easy thing. Yes, she had made an incredible bond with her mother, but it had left her somewhat cold, somewhat undisciplined. There was no father there to hold her, protect her, school her. Everything she learned in life came from one person: Margaret E. Durrel.

To be raised without a father did not represent the last of the world, or cause an infinite string of shame, guilt, and problems in her own life. It had simply caused a discrepancy. There was constantly a hole where something was meant to be.

The hole had never been filled until Sovik had walked into her life.

Sovik had taken her under his wing, taught her, encouraged her, discussed things with her. Though he wasn’t there during her early development, he had been there for her in many ways she could never imagine living without. For all intensive purposes, Sovik was like her father. He was family.

Sovik was someone she cared deeply for, honoured, and admired. So why was it that she was so incredibly afraid of him? Why was it that she felt so intimidated by the thought of him?

She rolled onto her side, opposite from where Joseph used to rest. She tightly closed her eyes, trying to forget the condition he was currently in. She tried to forget the way Sovik had gone from someone so intelligent and caring to someone who nearly tore her hand off days ago.

It was hard to imagine the transition now that it had all been said and done. The death of T’Leia made it almost impossible to really understand when Sovik had changed so drastically. The depression Sovik had gone through following her death made it hard to decipher  incredible grief from pure madness.

He’d separated himself. He’d taken on T’Leia’s tasks in the group as well as his own just to try to stay busy. He’d been drawn to the Renneral like it was the last thing left from her. Rebecca knew that was true… and suddenly the Renneral had turned into the last thing left from the Sovik _she_ once knew. The Renneral was a treasure… it had to make it to Earth. It had to.

She cringed thinking about the way Sovik had been treated by Starfleet, the way Jim had handled the situation, treating Sovik like he was some mastermind criminal. It was unprofessional, it was infuriating… and yet it was exactly what was needed. She knew this in her heart, but it was still so hard to look Jim in the eyes and think that he was going to lock Sovik away for life. After everything Sovik had done, after everything he had been through… they were going to lock away an innocent man.

Her mind began to wander to even darker corners, her thoughts going back a few days  to the moment she’d commed the bridge to ask for Spock. It had felt wrong waiting for him in the labs, waiting for Spock to inevitably walk straight into their trap.

‘ _I need you to come with me. It’s okay, Commander Spock, just come with me,’_ she had said,  luring Spock deeper into the space, deeper into where Sovik was waiting for him, deeper into danger

She would never forget the way Spock’s eyes had widened at the sight of Sovik, at the realization that he was the steak being tossed to the lions. He had hesitated to move forward. He had looked at her with heartbreaking , pleading eyes. And yet, Rebecca motioned him further.

The noises. The noises she heard from the room. Sovik’s incessant grunts, Spock’s pleas for freedom. She remembered wanting to crawl out of the room and find a quiet, dark place to curl up and hide. The sounds had become violent, the protests from Spock had faded, until the moment Sovik had exited, and Spock was left broken in the center of the room.

But what had been worst of all was Spock’s blank expression as he peered down at his bleeding hand, grasping the shard of glass Sovik had broke. Green blood trailed from the wound dripping into a small puddle on the floor.

_‘No, Doctor Durrell. I do not require any assistance from you.’_

Rebecca  opened her eyes, looking off across the room. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed any longer. She couldn’t remain in this bed.

She slid off the mattress, her mind mulling over the thoughts of Joseph, Sovik, and now Spock. She had so much to consider and organise in her mind that she didn’t know where to start. She didn’t know what to do.

Quickly, she tossed on one of her thick sweaters, the one she would wear on those cold Stronos nights. Still in her drawstring pants, she walked out into the halls of the deck and proceeded toward the nearest lift. Her eyes scanned the floor in front of her feet, trying not to make eye contact with anybody walking through the corridors.

She finally reached the lift and commanded it to take off for the labs. She closed her eyes in exhaustion. There was nothing more she’d rather do than go to sleep, but she couldn’t. Nothing she could do could help her sleep on a night like this.

As she exited the lift, she bumped into an entering crew member. He turned to apologize to her, reaching his hand out to touch her shoulder in a reassuring gesture, but she ignored it, shrugged the hand off, and continued down the hall to the lab doors, feeling like a zombie.

When she arrived, she instantly started for the room in which Sovik often occupied, the one with the Renneral samples, the Stronos flora, and of course what was left of the Fo-Weinvaksur.

She sat herself down at the desk, looking down at the PADD she had left here an hour prior. As she opened it up, she opened a document containing the notes she took in regards to Sovik and Spock’s blood samples, ones particularly involved with the molecular structure of it. She knew she had to try to isolate  the cause of the blood conversion.

She pursed her lips together, reading the possible diagnoses by the experts in McCoy’s medical lab. Some of them she found plausible, and others she found unlikely. When her eyes fell upon one of the most likely causations, one developed by McCoy himself, she paused.

As she read over the overview a second time, she  furrowed her brows, thoughtful at what it was accusing Sovik of.

It turned out, McCoy was on the assumption that Sovik had contracted some form of illness or contamination from the planet Stronos. He believed whatever the virus was, was— in simple terms— attracted to  Vulcan blood, and had possibly entered through the bloodstream, somehow passing through to the blood brain barrier, and thus causing the madness within Sovik

It was plausible, highly plausible.

She had discussed it briefly with him before leaving the sickbay hours ago. He had mentioned that he did not wish to share his concerns with the captain until it was a more developed theory. But as it stood, that was where the researchers were headed That’s what they were spending their days trying to prove.

She leaned back in her chair, considering what this meant for Sovik. If this was some disease he’d obtained on the planet’s surface, then there was a good chance that he would not make it to Earth. Starfleet would likely strip the RU-598 team of their years of work, and take all possible hazardous materials from them… including their Renneral.

The room was quiet.

Rebecca raised her brow, curiosity overwhelming her.

‘ _Starfleet would likely strip the RU-598 team of their years of work, and take all possible hazardous materials from them… including their Renneral.’_

Almost instantly, Rebecca stood up from her chair, letting it screech loudly against the floor. She didn’t care. Without a moment’s hesitation, she  darted to the other side of the room and rummaged through the boxes of equipment and samples they had brought with them from their studies on the planet.

In one of the boxes was a container of the greyish dust Sovik had become seemingly obsessed with. She opened the top of the box, reveling in the scent that was contained within it.

It smelt like some exotic weed. Everytime she caught a whiff of it, she became more and more immune to it, even learned to like it. She dipped her fingers in it, thinking how much it felt like ashes on her skin.

She brought the container to her desk where she’d left her PADD again. It was going to be difficult to isolate the single component to Sovik and Spock’s blood stream that had caused this entire change, and then compare it to that of the Renneral. But Rebecca was determined she thought of everything Sovik had done for her, and she bowed her head, preparing her work.

-

 

McCoy felt relieved knowing Jim was on his way to his quarters. He didn’t need Jim’s sour mood to affect his concentration, finding out just what had caused this illness to develop inside Sovik, and why it had affected his pon farr cycle so intensely to the point of forcing one of his best friends to submit to him.

A shiver went up his spine. Perhaps he missed Jim’s company because it had  distracted him from the harsh reality. For now though, he would have to seek comfort in another one of his bottles sitting on the desk as he finished his notes.

Wine. It wasn’t his most preferred alcoholic beverage, but it did the job. It warmed his stomach, and caught the itch he’d been trying to scratch all night. It satisfied him silently. Alcohol was alcohol at a time like this.

He observed the red liquid in the bottle, looking particularly purple with the green bottle encasing it. He felt his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand.

McCoy’s mind forced itself to return to the task at hand, isolating the cause and cure to whatever it was that was causing both these Vulcans such distress. He had already tried certain antidotes in attempt to separate the troubling virus from the blood, but everything was proving to be hopeless. Unless they found out what exactly was causing it, Spock and Sovik were going to die.

McCoy covered his face.

It sounded like someone was talking in the other room— quiet muffling, like someone was trying to keep their voice down so that McCoy wouldn’t hear them.

McCoy dropped his hand from his face, his other one setting the wine glass aside. As he lifted himself out of his chair, he proceeded to the door, cautious about Sovik possibly being awake. Quickly, he retrieved his communicator off of the shelf and swung the top open, making it much more accessible in case of an emergency.

Then there was a bumping noise, followed by footsteps. McCoy couldn’t help but feel even more curious and cautious. He finally activated the door, and carefully walked through.

Rebecca was standing by Sovik’s bed, her hands clasped over the Vulcan’s. Her eyes were locked on the man, tears running down her face. When she heard McCoy enter, she whipped her head around to face him.

“McCoy?” she questioned in a hissed whisper.

McCoy  nodded, entering further into the room to stand a few paces away from her and Sovik. He looked down at his patient with a hint of disgust. He still could not get over the idea that this man had taken so much from his friend.

His disgust grew as he peered up to Rebecca. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rebecca didn’t look at him long. Her eyes fell upon Sovik once more as she spoke. “The mystery, Doctor. I solved it,” she whispered, her breath hitching with exhilaration.

“The mystery?” McCoy repeated, trying to figure what she was saying to him. He furrowed his brow at her, pursing his lips together.

“It’s Renneral!” She turned to him, dropping Sovik’s hands in the act. “Don’t you see? The Renneral caused all this! That’s what’s making them act this way! I’m not sure why, I’m not sure how, but I know that whatever it is floating around in those blood samples it’s the Renneral.”

McCoy lifted his brow, the other one slowly followed.

“I’ve thought of that,” McCoy muttered a moment later. “But you all have been dealing with this stuff for years now. How is it that it’s only affected Sovik, and not anyone else? Besides, everyone on the whole damn ship has been exposed to it!” he went on, panicking at the thought of the ship being in danger.

“Both of them aren’t like us. They’re Vulcan!” she exclaimed with excitement. “They have completely different blood than we do.”

“But Spock’s only half Vulcan,” McCoy began.

“I don’t _know,_ Doctor,” she shook her head regretfully. “I don’t know the medical effects of it, but like you said yourself, I’ve spent years with this substance, I know for a fact that this is Renneral we’re dealing with.”

McCoy thought about it, somewhat perplexed that the answer had been so obvious all along. He brought his attention to the other bed where Spock was sleeping on his side, looking away from McCoy and Rebecca. Whether he was sleeping peacefully or not was anyone’s guess.

“I’m not sure how it entered the blood system, but it’s there, Doctor, it’s there.” Her eyes softened, her hands resting against the blanket on the bed.

McCoy studied her expression, thinking the whole explanation over in his head. It was plausible. Spock had been the one to assist Sovik in the labs. He was most certainly exposed to it. However, there were still questions, still things he didn’t quite understand. Questions he would have to ask in time.

He quickly looked away from her and then instead, watched over his patients thoughtfully. “I’ll need proof. Get some samples of the Renneral,” McCoy ordered.

Rebecca stood for a moment watching McCoy. She didn’t make any movements for the door or an indicator that she’d even heard him. She simply watched him, her eyes filling again with tears.

“Rebecca?” McCoy mumbled, inching closer to her.

She lowered her eyes again, her hands retreating from Sovik’s bed, slowly wrapping them around herself.

“Doctor?” she whispered, “Does the captain hate me and Sovik?”

McCoy took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what he could tell Rebecca that wouldn’t make her feel bad. The truth was most definitely not what she wanted to hear at a time like this, but it was in respect to both Jim and his good friend Spock that he had to tell the truth in some form.

“Of course Jim is angry, Rebecca,” he replied simply.

Rebecca closed her eyes, avoiding McCoy’s direction. “I suppose you hate me and Sovik too,” she mumbled, trying to hold back the inevitable tears that were now trailing down her cheek.

McCoy watched them roll down the side of her face.They slid down her chin until they fell onto Sovik’s sheets. He brought his gaze back up to her face, noticing the heavy bags under her eyes.

“I don’t think Jim or I will ever forgive you,” McCoy replied quietly, walking the short distance to the table next to Sovik’s bed and retrieving a box of tissues from the second drawer. “But that shouldn’t stop you from doing the right thing.” He handed her the light blue box, tissues sticking out the top, ready for her to use.

She opened her eyes to the offering, turning her head away. “I never wanted to hurt you or the captain.”

McCoy clenched his fists, trying to bite back the fury he was feeling, “Maybe you shouldn’t have hurt Spock.”

The room was silent for a long moment, her eyes wandering over to Spock’s bed. She watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, blissfully unaware of their conversation.

“You and the captain really love Commander Spock,” she pointed out quietly, looking over in McCoy’s direction sweetly.

McCoy turned to acknowledge Spock, his mind instantly going to Jim. He knew how much Jim loved Spock, “Yeah, we care about him. Especially Jim.” He bit his lip for a moment, forgetting that Rebecca had demolished their trust, had broken their hearts and their friend. She was not one to be privileged of this information. She didn’t get the opportunity to know just how much she hurt Jim.

“I know,” she quickly answered before McCoy could argue. She was now looking at McCoy, directly in his ice blue eyes. “It’s obvious that he really loves Spock.”

McCoy felt absolute rage boiling in his system, but bit back on it, willing it down inside himself. He couldn’t lose his cool in front of her. Not like this. There was so much to be done, so much to be said, and nothing would fix her… nobody could.

Her knowledge of Jim’s affection for Spock spoke novels about the type of person she was. She didn’t understand love, she didn’t understand the way someone could physically pain over the hurt of their loved one. Whether it was a friend, a sibling, a lover. She couldn’t understand.

“Get the Renneral,” McCoy ordered, walking across the room to the intercom. He turned back to her, surveying the way she just stood beside Sovik’s bed helplessly. “Did you hear me? Go get those Renneral samples! We need to save these men!” he hissed, wanting to yell, but fearful of waking up Spock.

She raised both her brows at his intense tone and started for the door, her eyes looking back at Sovik once before leaving. McCoy couldn’t help but feel his anger return at the sight of her sick devotion to that man. He curled his nose angrily.

He slammed his hand into the intercom, “Doctor M’Benga!” he growled into it. “I need you down in sickbay, _now!_ We’ve got the substance,now all we need is the cure.”

-

 

**13 hours later**

 

The doors opened smoothly as they always had, allowing the light to enter into the room and splash against the back wall of the bedroom on the other side. It looked haunting this way, seeing it from a new light. The Vulcan artifacts symbolized something much darker now that Jim knew what had happened.

After taking a step in, he realized just how dark the room was. It was like entering a deep abyss, swallowing Jim and everything he was thinking all in a moment.

The dark was a strange and mysterious thing. The longer he spent within its clutches, the more he could see. His imagination filled in the blank spaces as he moved along.

As he stood there, Jim felt a sense of hesitation, like he didn’t belong here in this space. He felt his existence within Spock’s quarters was an intrusion on not only Spock’s privacy, but their friendship as well. It wasn’t right…it just wasn’t.

There had been many times when Jim had entered through the joined bathroom between their quarters for a game of chess, or even a simple conversation. But those times were different. Those times included Spock’s presence, and Spock’s approval. Right now, Spock was sleeping, completely unaware Jim was even looking at his ancient Vulcan artifacts. He didn’t know, and that was what bothered him.

But Jim had a plan. He’d a reason.

When Spock woke up—  because Jim wouldn’t let this be a question of _if_ —  Jim wanted him to return as though everything was the same. He wanted Spock to see that nothing had changed. Jim didn’t want the room to be left the way Spock would remember it being, with his belongings scattered and broken across the room and the bedsheets thrown and piled onto the floor. He didn’t want Spock to have any visible reminders of what had happened.

“Computer,” Jim finally whispered into the room, “Lights at fifty percent.”

Fifty percent would suffice for what Jim wished to do. It was enough light for him to maneuver through the space, but not so vivid that he would lose sight of what he was here for and what he was doing.

And for a moment, Jim almost forgot what that was.

The lights were at fifty percent, and all Jim could see was disaster. It was no longer the unique layout of his good friend Spock’s room, but the violence that existed in it days ago.

He approached the bed, looking upon it with shame and sorrow. He couldn’t bear the idea of what had taken place in it, or what had happened in it. He tightly closed his eyes.

Briskly, Jim turned from it, moving over to the desk where he had known Spock to sit and work often after his long shifts on the bridge. It was also the very desk that Jim had thrown Sovik into during their encounter. He didn’t want to even consider what else had occurred on that spot.

His fingers graced the top of the desk, looking at Spock’s belongings that had scattered across it. It was highly unlike Spock to leave his work space like this… in fact, the entire room was an absolute wreck.

He noticed the black box he’d gifted to Spock days ago. His eyes widened slightly, feeling his heart pang in his chest. It was clear by the way it was opened and laying on its side that it was empty.

And that hurt him badly.

As he searched for the ring, he reminded himself of the encounter with Sovik. On the floor was the broken Vulcan artifact that he’d cracked over Sovik’s head. As he recalled that he also remembered the way he’d found Spock… the tricorder strap wrapped tightly around his throat.. the very one that had once held the ring he gave Spock.

It was then that he found the tricorder strap laying on the cold floor. This was what had assisted Sovik in being seconds away from murdering Spock… his best friend.

Jim tore his eyes away from the leather strap and scanned the floor, not wanting to give the horrid sight any more time than it deserved.

He lowered to the floor in order to level himself with the searching field. Suddenly, a blinding glare came from beside the desk, his eyes squinting in order to locate it definitely. He crouched down, and reached his arm out to it, picking up the stone.

He stood, his hand clasped tightly around the treasure in his hand. He could feel the jagged edges pressing into his palm painfully, but he didn’t care, he simply held onto it as tightly as he held onto the memories of his love with Spock.

When he reopened his eyes, he opened his hands as well, the diamond ring shining back up at him.

There wasn’t a scuff on it. It was as solid as the day he’d offered it to Carol all those years ago. It was still as glamorous, still as gorgeous as it had been the day he purchased it.

Even though she had denied it, and Spock had denied their love as well, Jim still felt a strange tug on his heart. This symbol of love and infinity was not his to keep. This ring belonged to Spock. Whether he treasured it or ignored it, it was still his.

He turned back to the disheveled room, eyeing all the areas that needed mending and cleaning. He took in all the broken memories shattered on the ground.

 _Spock’s_ memories… shattered on the ground.

Jim closed his eyes and placed the ring in his pocket. This was going to be a bigger job than he’d anticipated. The bed, the floor, the desk, it was all a mess. It was no surprise that a fight had broken out here, and possibly a little bit more.

And yet, it didn’t feel like a chore at all to clean things up for Spock, knowing it would only make him feel better. It _did_ feel heartbreaking that he was literally picking up after the infuriating man who had hurt the one he loved most.

But he’d pick the room up a thousand times over if it helped bring an ounce of relief to Spock. If it would bring some sort of peace of mind to him, then it was worth it. He would do anything for Spock’s comfort… anything at all.

-

 

Just as McCoy had expected, he felt a sense of relief come over him at the sight of Jim entering his sickbay again. He visibly smirked at the man, tossing his latex gloves into the dispenser by the night stand.

“How’s your head?” he asked, eyeing the way Jim’s face was hinting at some sort of pain.

“It’s better,” Jim admitted, rubbing the back of his head and neck tenderly.

“But not great,” McCoy filled in, shaking his head. “And I’m going to guess you didn’t sleep either.”

Jim looked up at McCoy, answering that question for him without saying a single word.

“Jim, how can you expect to heal yourself if you aren’t giving yourself time to?” McCoy asked in frustration, wanting to grab Jim by the shoulders and shake some sense into the man, but he held back. He didn’t need to make this exchange some big show for the rest of the crew to hear about.

Jim ignored it anyways, and looked down at Spock’s dazed figure on the bed. His eyes were open but unseeing again. He looked so handsome, so peaceful, yet so… _out of it_ , which Jim found to be the furthest thing from comforting. Seeing Spock like that was like seeing him with two bullets in the chest.

“Spock,” Jim greeted in a soothing tone. He brought his hand to touch Spock’s. There was no reaction, no flinching, no twitching, not even signs of enjoyment or relief. Spock simply laid there, his eyelids heavy.

“He’s sedated, Jim,” McCoy informed, coming up beside him, attentively looking down at Spock. 

Jim peered down at Spock, his heart obviously beating fast by the pace of his breath. He watched every slow blink Spock was making, every drawn out breath he was taking. Jim was giving him all his attention possible. He had to, he felt as though if he pulled his gaze away, Spock would some how wilt out of existence, or experience great pain. 

“Jim,” McCoy tried to break through to his friend, looking at him confidently. “We know what’s going on.”

It didn’t take a second for Jim to break his attention in half and acknowledge McCoy and his words. “What?” a small smile was forcing its way to the surface, one of the first genuine smiles he’d seen on Jim in a while. He had been so overwhelmed by Spock and enraged by Sovik that he hadn't smiled in so long. It was relieving for McCoy to see. 

“We know what’s been causing this,” McCoy repeated with a small smile. “We’re trying a new formula on them right now. It’s _promising,_ but it’s not entirely there.”

Jim’s eyes were wide with excitement and anticipation. Even though Spock and Sovik’s condition was appearing increasingly bleak for the doctors, Jim’s incredible grin made everything seem so much more possible. It was a quality only a captain of his excellence could possess, such charm.

“Thank you, Bones.” He smiled, breathing harder with happiness. His eyes yet again turning to Spock, who was drowsily watching Jim's hand resting on his blanket. 

“Don’t thank me, Jim…” McCoy began, looking across the room. 

Jim’s eyes raised off of the bed to where McCoy was directing his attention to. His smile faded slightly at the sight of Rebecca in a lab coat, looking onto their conversation with interest. It was obvious that the doctor was hinting to her presence, even more obvious that she knew about it too. 

McCoy and Jim turned to each other, Jim’s eyes searching McCoy for something to relieve his concern for the news he’d just received. “She didn’t…” he whispered, hoping that Rebecca hadn't been the one to discover these new findings. He didn't want her involved with Spock any longer. He didn't want her to feel entitled to respect she didn't deserve just because she had done the right thing. 

“She did,” McCoy muttered back, his eyes trailing back to her before he returned his attention to Spock in the bed. “It was Renneral, Jim. Renneral is just swimming in their veins. Sovik’s more than Spock’s.”

Jim raised his brows, “But they were all around the Renneral for so long,” he tried to figure out loud. “Why now?”

McCoy motioned for Jim to follow him away from the bed, his arms crossing over his chest. Once they reached an area that was far enough from Spock, Sovik, and Rebecca, McCoy turned to face Jim “Have you ever studied twentieth century cocaine?” McCoy asked, raising his brows at Jim, mirroring Jim’s reaction.

“Twentieth century cocaine? You mean like the narcotic?” Jim asked as McCoy nodded his head. “I’ve heard about their practices, but I haven’t recently done my research.”

“Well, from what we’ve figured out so far, the only thing I can compare it to is that. Twentieth century cocaine.”

“Are you telling me that the Renneral material is some sort of stimulant?” Jim questioned, furrowing his brows. He briefly glanced over to Rebecca, still intently watching over the two of them. 

“No, Jim,” McCoy shook his head. “I’m telling you that it adopts similar principles.”

“Explain,” Jim demanded, pursing his lips together as he quickly turned to face the doctor again. From the corner of his eyes he could still faintly see Rebecca’s gaze following them. He felt himself tense with rage. He didn't want her looking at him in any way, not after what she had known yet hadn't reported. 

“The Renneral somehow entered into the bloodstream. It could have been injected, or through a scrape…” McCoy began to explain before Jim offered his own information.

“Like the one on Spock’s palm.” He figured out loud.

“That’s right, Jim. The one on his hand would definitely do the trick,” McCoy agreed, lightly nodding his head. “Once it enters the bloodstream, it starts to circulate throughout the body, until a great portion of it breaks through the blood brain barrier.”

Jim tensed his fingers into fists. He wasn’t sure if it was due to discomfort, anger, or coldness. He felt so cold standing there in that room. He wondered if Spock could feel the chill in his semi conscious state. 

“Once it gets to the blood brain barrier it starts interrupting synapses, and in this case, since the Renneral’s properties within Vulcan blood seems to coagulate, it sort of bubbles in the synaptic cleft,” he explained thoroughly. “If there’s something interrupting those neurotransmitters, than we get an excess amount of dopamine being released. Dopamine, adrenaline, and in a Vulcan’s case, excess amounts of certain hormones as well.”

“And this caused the pon farr to occur?” Jim offered, finally beginning to understand what McCoy was informing him.

“It seems to activate the heat cycle within them. From what I’ve come to understand in this short amount of time, is that it slowly minimizes the break periods between their _times_.” McCoy watched Jim’s befuddled reaction. “When they first become exposed to it, they feel the pon farr drive. Then, as they interact with the substance longer, they start feeling it more frequently until their cycles are overlapping  each other. The strain on the body becomes so intense that the they become completely mad their body will shut down, no matter how much it’s being stimulated.”

“Do you think that’s what killed T’Leia?” Jim asked, looking toward Sovik’s bed.

“Most definitely,” McCoy sighed, envisioning the horrors that had entailed on the surface of the Stronos planet prior to their arrival. Death by Pon Farr did not seem like a necessarily good way to go.

Jim suddenly looked back at the doctor, his brow raised again in confusion. “If that’s true, why isn’t Spock experiencing the drive?” He asked, knowing well and good how Spock had behaved during his own period of Pon Farr. He had become aggravated, violent, irrational, and yet during the past few days Spock hadn't exhibited any of those symptoms.   

“We think it has something to do with his human blood. It’s breaking down the Renneral better than Sovik. But, the positive aspects end there. From what M’Benga can discern, it’s causing Spock’s body to become fatigued, his shields to fall, migraines, that sort of stuff,” McCoy answered, looking over at his patients with disappointment. 

Jim’s shoulders stiffened, looking back at Spock. “So, Spock might die?” he questioned, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He cringed as he awaited the answer.

“Yes…” McCoy replied. “Unless our serum takes effect in the next twenty four hours, Sovik and Spock will die.”

-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to thank plaidshirtjimkirk and Rowanbaines! Make sure to let them know what you think of their work!!! :) They are EXTREMELY talented people.
> 
> I know this chapter might seem a bit confusing with the science and what not. It's all from what I've learned of the brain and it's behavior. SO, if you have questions, concerns, corrections, I would love to hear them in the comments below, or email me at iamcemxox@gmail.com, or you can send me an ask through tumblr [here](http://i-am-cem.tumblr.com/ask) !!! I'm always looking for new blogs to follow! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! <3 I hope everyone is doing well and that this chapter was satisfying!!!!!
> 
> Live Long and Prosper my friends!


	20. When the Devil's Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Plaidshirtjimkirk for betaing my chapter. She caught a few plot holes I didn't catch when writing! WHICH IS GREAT! She's actually working on a SUPER fantastic story right now titled Paths In The Starlight, and you can read that [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4572573/chapters/10413417) !!!!! 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper Friends!!! <333
> 
> (ps. title inspired by the song "When the Devil's Loose" by AA Bondy!!!!)

**When the Devil’s Loose**

 

 _“Two...raised to the power of…five…”_ Spock strained his mind, eyes firmly shut to escape the darkness that was surrounding him. He swallowed hard, trying to solve the equation scattered across his thoughts.

It was blacker than space out here…wherever _here_ was. It felt like he could walk through it forever, his feet taking him absolutely nowhere. He couldn’t see a single speckle of light… no stars to guide him. Only complete darkness.

“ _Two…five...raised to the power…five...thirty…two,”_ he figured, thinking for a moment if his maths was somehow inadequate. When he finally confirmed that two raised to the power of five was in fact thirty-two, he continued the equation, wondering if this should be cause for celebration. He could not remember whether or not this calculation was supposed to be difficult, or simple. Difficult answers merited praise in the right circumstances. Simplistic ones...did not.  

Silently, Spock worked through the next step, organizing the numbers into their specific locations in absolute silence, as well as with incredible precision. Logically. Flawlessly. This was how it should feel and be.

But it was becoming harder to focus his mind in the precise way he wished when he started to hear strange voices calling out to him from the distance. Somewhere among the black sheet surrounding him was a man… a man he knew all too well staring at and watching him. Spock could not see him. But he knew he was there.

Watching. Waiting. Watching. Waiting...

 _“Multiply the negative integers, by the nth value to receive an absolute value of twenty-four point six eight one.”_ He nodded to himself, ignoring the strange presence--ignoring the watching and the waiting.

“ _Twenty-four point six eight one,”_ he started again, finding himself growing increasingly frustrated at the length of time it was taking to reach the solution he should have arrived at  eons ago. He wasn’t sure why his mind was seeming to lag as much as it was, or why it was beginning to feel cloudy, as though his thoughts were being gassed out with dangerous toxin, leaving him more and more lifeless, befuddled.

 _“Four…four?...”_ Spock paused, his body stirring slightly. It moved as though he were locked in slow motion, too heavy to move far.

“ _Four plus … six…”_ Spock paused, again, his mind scrambling through the information he should have been able to call upon within seconds. He couldn’t seem to focus on the equation long enough to solve it, and for that reason, Spock’s heart began to pound furiously in his side, almost painfully.

Scorching heat began to rise from his throbbing heart, pumping boiling hot blood through his seemingly lifeless veins, numbing his limbs. What was he now experiencing? Was this what death felt like? Had Sovik taken his life? Was this all that the universe would be to him now— him drifting aimlessly in agonizing darkness?

As morbid as it was, Spock couldn’t help but find it fascinating.

 _“Four, plus six…”_ Spock repeated, trying to concentrate harder on the problem at hand, trying more than ever to ignore the heat and eeriness that was surrounding him.

His fists clenched and his brows furrowed. From all the numbers and figures that were jumping around in his mind, how was it that he couldn’t simply call upon the most basic component in all of mathematics.

“ _Four plus six… six…. six plus four…”_ Spock continued to repeat in his head. He tried solving it through multiplication, then division, but he knew it wasn’t right. Nothing was right. Everything was wrong.

Everything had gone so wrong.

And suddenly Spock opened his eyes to—not the darkness that had been plaguing him, but instead, a blinding light. His head was swimming in a foggy mess, and he tried laboriously to  scan the room around him, fearing how difficult it was when it shouldn’t be. He felt as though he were seeing the world from underwater. He worried when he would start to feel like he was drowning, and he worried even more for thinking such an illogical thought.

“Spock. Can you hear me?” a voice called out above Spock. His eyes were delayed in their reaction, slowly moving to the source of the noise.

 _“What happened?”_ Spock tried to open his mouth and ask, but it felt like only a groan was made audible. He felt himself melt into the bed below him, feeling his temperature rising to the point where he physically felt himself boiling in his own clothes.

“Are you ready for your next shot?” the voice continued to speak to him, sounding as though it had come closer to his left side.

When his eyes finally turned toward the stranger’s direction, he realized his previous thoughts of only one individual residing next to him were false. As he peered upward, he saw two manly figures standing over him, looking down at him with blurred faces.

There was no indication of where he was, let alone who these individuals were. His fingers felt bulky and cumbersome as his fisted the sheets below him, trying to ground himself to something, scared he might float away in the underwater sensation. He also wished to pull the blanket over his shoulders and shield himself from those prying eyes, uncaring that it would make him feel hotter, thusly much more uncomfortable. But, he’d rather burn alive than have another person look at him the same way Sovik had. He’d rather walk straight inside a volcano than ever experience something like that again.  

“Pl… pl…” he attempted to plead, unsure whether or not he had even made a sound. His eyes slowly began to close , too much energy being exerted in his attempt at speech. He was suddenly so very tired, the water, that much thicker.

“We’ve got you Spock. You’re okay.”This voice seemed rather different from the others. It sounded much more smooth, soft like the blanket he wanted to pull over himself; the heat it promised was gentle and comforting as opposed to the blistering swelter that had overtaken him. When he opened his eyes again, he examined the people once more, curious now because of that one voice.

“Nurse, go record those readings. We don’t want a replay of the last time!” a much more brash voice called out, and when Spock blinked again, there were only two heads above him, communicating to one another quietly.

“Pl.. plea...” Spock attempted again, this time with much more determination. However, with his tongue feeling like dead weight in his mouth, he was certain this time he did not make a sound… only his mouth moved, searching for a way to say what he wished.

Both the heads turned down to face him as though he perhaps _had_ spoken, their blurred features now pointed and alert. One of the individuals placed his hands on his chest, beginning to open his shirt slowly… almost intimidatingly.

Suddenly it was clear to him, this couldn’t be someone comforting or supportive, it must have been someone like Sovik.

 _Illogical_. Yes. It did seem rather odd that someone would want to utilize him in a similar way Sovik had, but as he felt cold hands groping at his shirt to open it, he realized that it did not matter _what_ this person’s intentions were… he did not wish to consent to such humiliation as what was to come. He could not go through it again.  

Spock wiggled his body, trying to move away from the touch, uncaring that he hadn’t the strength. His breathing increased, and the heat in his body steadily began to rise once again, the boiling sensation coming back. His veins felt painfully full and warm. He couldn’t manage to lift himself, so instead he tensed every muscle in his body. He knew from past experiences that tensing only made matters worse, but he could not do anything else to salvage himself from another attack. It was an instinctual, reflexive reaction he had lost all control over.

“St...op,” Spock finally managed, muscles twitching painfully. He was breathing so hard from the mixture of anxiety and heat that he felt it would undo him completely.

“It’s okay, Spock!” one of the voices yelled down to him, the pitch and tone sounding far and away, as though it’d been shouted in a tunnel with Spock way down at the other end.  

“Stop struggling, Spock! It’s alright, I have to administer the hypo!” the voice boomed again. Spock tried to pull his arms over his chest to bring himself inward, somehow shield his body from the upcoming attack.

“Jim, hold his arm back, I just need to get in there for a moment,” the man continued, looking down at Spock as he began shifting his arms out of the way.

“St… op,” Spock mumbled out a second time, wishing it had come out as desperate and demanding as he felt.

Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos, he felt a hand on his wrist, tenderly guiding his own away from where it was.  Surprisingly, his entire body relaxed as his eyes followed up to the place where their hands were connected. A face lingered above him, a face he wanted to remember… but couldn’t place in his current state.

 _‘It’s okay! Don’t struggle. Don’t be afraid. We love you, we care about you!_ ’Spock could suddenly feel those words in his mind, like arms hugging him protectively. There was warmth there too, an undercurrent of safety. Spock’s eyes flitted over the person in astonishment.

It felt incredible to be lifted from such a dark place. His mind had been riddled by dark, murky presences. When messages of love and hope were being transferred over to him, he felt himself reaching for a clearer consciousness, wanting to see and feel this person in reality... to thank them and possibly return a fraction of his gratitude.

He sighed in relief, tightening his hand over whoever it was that had offered him theirs. He closed his eyes and rested his head on its side against the feathery pillow below him, finding comfort that had not been there before, bathing him in warm strips.

He groaned from a mixture of hurt and comfort, a body as ravaged as his too far gone to be completely without pain.

“It’s alright, Spock,” the man holding his hand whispered, a second hand carding through his bangs, somehow relieving the heat he was feeling in the process.

Suddenly there was a slight stinging sensation in his neck, simultaneous with a cold metal instrument touching his chest, just above the top of his ribs.

Numbness crawled up his arms like bricks, stacking up on one another relentlessly until he couldn’t feel them any longer, his body seemingly fading out of existence. It would be fascinating if it was not so terrifying. He felt an increasing need to sleep, to rest himself and forget about all the trouble he had just been contemplating--to leave behind the bothersome aspects of what his life had become.

Then, there was blackness.

It was the same darkness that he had become accustomed to moments ago. He knew it was the same abyss he had just encountered, because the voices were the same. He could feel the same eyes following him, watching him.

Watching. Waiting. Watching. Waiting.

The heat began to subside, the only thing he could feel was the heavy thumping of his heart in his side.

As he peered down at his hands, he noticed a strange ball of light dwindling in his palm like a fading candle. The longer he stared into the flickering light, the more he could feel a pressure against it, as if it were being held tightly in another person’s grasp. He was not sure if he should be experiencing discomfort or not.

The light was nearly out, and with it, the pressure on his palm was leaving too. In its place, he felt gaping emptiness throughout his entire body. This was not discomforting. This, this was painful. The thought of it blipping out of existence, was terrifying.

“ _No,_ ” Spock whispered to it, bringing his other finger to prod at the light curiously. He didn’t want it to disappear, and leave him to be eaten whole by the dark.

Just as he had predicted, the light was finally gone, his head going foggy once again. There was no longer the comfort in his hands. He was absolutely alone, listening to the empty room, feeling the presence of another person lurking in the shadows, a lightheadedness starting to build inside him for some reason he could not explain.

Someone began chanting his name far off in the distance. It was difficult to be sure what was being said, but Spock knew… he somehow could feel the whispers against his mind.

However, it wasn’t the voice in his head that disturbed him. It was the fact that he couldn’t isolate it that he found concerning. His mind felt laced with barbed wire, holding him off from using certain areas of it. He felt like a man with both arms tied behind his back. It was impossible to find balance in his thoughts when he could not reach the parts of himself that were so deeply distressed.

For a moment, he felt like a child, and not a Vulcan child on his best, logical behavior, but a scared child full of unwept tears. His mind and body were bruised beyond self repair. He wanted to be held, to be told that everything would be alright. He wanted his mother, his absolutely imperfect, illogical, irrational mother. She would be the only one in the universe who could understand this pain. She as well as Jim.

 _Jim_.

His mind went on autopilot, obviously no longer in any form of consciousness any more. Whatever memories and thoughts that came through to him would just have to come. He didn’t have any sort of control, just like he never did and never would. His body was no longer his to claim as his own. For all intents purposes, he—Spock— no longer existed.

-

 

“I’m not a sadist, Jim, I’m a doctor,” McCoy bit back as he and the captain sped through the halls of the Enterprise. “I don’t like to see him in that condition any more than you do.” He narrowed his eyes down the hall, somewhat out of breath from their rigorous pace.

Jim was unaffected, staring down the same hallway they were headed with blank certainty. Finally, they approached the lift. When they were both inside, Jim clutched the handlebar on the side, “Sick—” he started commanding, but was immediately cut off when McCoy spoke again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” McCoy asked, raising a brow almost angrily.

“To sickbay,” Jim replied flatly, the computer taking its orders and continuing onward for its destination.

“To sickbay?” McCoy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I sometimes think you underestimate my work. You think I have the time to focus on all my patients, _and_ chase you around the ship ordering you to get some rest?”

Jim brought his fingers to his eyes, tenderly massaging the tired sockets as he tried to will away the intense headache building behind them. He finally raised his head to McCoy, noticing the doctor was still impatiently awaiting a reply.

“You’re so concerned about everyone else I sometimes think you forget to look after yourself,” Jim pointed out just as the lift reached the desired deck. “When _was_ the last time you slept?” he asked, stepping off the platform and heading for sickbay.

McCoy rolled his eyes, following Jim out into the hall, “Try as you may, Captain, being the experienced doctor I am, I know that sleep is important. If I don’t sleep, I won’t be able to make good decisions for my patients.” He finally made his way beside Jim, holding the door closed so that Jim had no choice but to look the doctor in the eyes, “The same goes for you, Jim. The members of this crew are like _your_ patients.”

The doors opened, and Jim shook his head, approaching McCoy’s office, “Come on, Bones…”

“There’s no one on this entire ship who we depend on more than you, Jim. Do you want to jeopardize over four hundred lives, including Spock’s, because you don’t want to take a _nap_?” he stressed, trying to emphasize how ridiculous Jim was behaving. “Or have a decent meal?”

Jim finally reached McCoy’s desk, searching the surface of it with his eyes.

“I’m not going to give you another stimulant,” McCoy sighed, walking over to his desk to where his computer was sleeping. After waking it with his touch, his eyes moved over to Jim’s, “You can’t substitute rest with hypos. It’s unhealthy.”

Helplessly, Jim slumped into the chair across from McCoy. He folded his hands together, resting them on his lap as he watched McCoy type into the machine.

“So how’s their progress going?” Jim asked, breaking through the silence, not knowing what else to say.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, bringing his fingers off the keys. “From the latest report I just received, Spock’s handling the antidote quite well, surprisingly. Sovik on the other hand is experiencing increased symptoms.” McCoy then began typing into the computer once more, “We might have to up the dosage for him.”

Jim nodded, looking down at the desk thoughtfully for a moment. It felt wrong to feel these things, but suddenly his spirits were lifting. He didn’t care for the condition of his enemy; all that mattered was that Spock was finally letting the medication take effect.

“I did some research,” Jim began, “I read up on some Vulcan telepathy. I don’t know if I feel comfortable with those telepathy numbing sprays you keep giving him.”

McCoy sighed again, lifting his eyes to Jim, “It’s not the best thing for him, that’s for sure. I decreased the amount in his last shot.” McCoy scoffed, “But I can’t just stop giving them to him all together. We can’t risk Sovik’s mind linking back to him again. If anything, it’ll help detach the bond Sovik forced on Spock.”

The room became silent again as McCoy finished his official report. Jim’s eyes roamed across the room to look at the mess that littered  McCoy’s typically pristine office. He knew just by the way things looked that McCoy had lied earlier. There was no way McCoy was getting the rest he required.

Just then, the doors opened. Rebecca was standing there, her hands shoved into the pockets of her messy lab coat. The traces of Renneral coating her sleeves causing Jim’s stomach to churn. The thought of that gunk travelling through Spock’s body made him cringe.

She stepped further in, almost as though she had been invited. Jim tossed his gaze to McCoy who was watching her, his brows furrowed just as aggressively as Jim’s.

“I altered the dosage for Sovik, if you would like to review them, Doctor,” she offered, handing him her personal PADD where she had been making her notes and reports.

McCoy accepted it, placing it onto the table as he scanned them over for any indiscretions or errors in her findings.

She stood in the room awkwardly, her hands balled nervously in her pockets as she watched the captain sitting, avoiding any sort of contact with her. She then cleared her throat, turning to look away from the both of them. Silently she inspected the room, noticing the heavy stash of alcohol in the cabinet across from them.

“It seems in order, Ms. Durrell,” McCoy handed her the device, looking up at her, “If you could send me a copy of your report, I’ll forward it to Nurse Chapel for administration.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca nodded her head, and turned to take her leave.

“Ms. Durrell,” Jim finally decided to speak, causing Rebecca to stiffen in the doorway. Her hands nervously played with the edge of her lab coat.

“Captain?” she replied, tilting her head ever so slightly. She looked exhausted, her hair thrown on top of her head as though she had slept in the bun she was wearing earlier. Heavy, dark bags hung under her eyes, and her pupils seemed dilated. Jim could only imagine what her sleep schedule was like these past few days.

Jim sighed through his nose, looking over to McCoy who was giving him a weary look. He then returned his gaze to Rebecca standing rigidly in the door.

“Captain?” she repeated, turning to face him entirely, her brows slanted back in concern.

“Did you know about the Renneral?” he asked with remarkable calm. He bit his cheek subtly, listening to the way Rebecca inhaled choppily. “I mean, did any of the RU-598 crew know about its possible effects?”

Rebecca bit her lip, eyes appearing like glass. As she bowed her head to look at the simple black flats she was wearing, strands of her hair fell over top of her eyes, concealing them. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” she admitted, looking up to Jim finally after a long moment of silence. “I didn’t know anything.”

“Do you think Sovik knew?” he asked, giving her an interrogative glare.

“Sovik and I knew nothing… I don’t think any of us did. I spent hours trying to figure out if it was Renneral, Sir,” she cleared her throat. “It’s just as shocking to me as it is likely to you.”

Jim was silent for a moment, watching Rebecca peer over the top of Jim’s head, avoiding making direct visual contact with him. It was obvious she was affected by the whole thing, losing Joseph, possibly losing Sovik, and now losing everything she had just spent years of her life dedicated to.

Rebecca sighed. “I should be leaving, Captain Kirk. I have some more tests I need to run,” she explained, “If you need me, I’ll be in the lab.”

Jim nodded his head, watching as she quickly escaped through the door. He turned back to McCoy with both brows raised, “Do you think any of them knew anything before getting on the ship?”

McCoy shook his head, almost rolling his eyes, “Jim, who knows,” he grumbled, “But I don’t think it would make much sense for them to know anything about it and do nothing. It wouldn’t be log…”McCoy paused, his eyes quickly darting to Jim.

“Logical?” Jim smirked, reminding himself of the way Spock had muttered that word over the years. “No,you’re right,” he finally agreed, “It wouldn’t make much sense at all.”

McCoy shook his head, “It’s unfortunate really,” McCoy mumbled, “They really did spend a long time on this project. To have it just be for nothing…”

“Yes, it is a tragedy, _but_ it’s good that we caught it aboard our ship and not when it became widespread information.” Jim explained, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Moments passed as McCoy leaned back in his chair, watching the way Jim’s eyes were staring down at the table. What was most disturbing was the way it seemed as though there was nothing behind his eyes--no way to tell what exactly Jim was thinking.

Vulcans were indeed incredible when it came to controlling their emotions and actions. They were infamous for their abilities, and McCoy had often believed that they couldn’t be real, that there had to be something beneath those expressionless masks they carried with such pride. However, time and time again he was proved wrong by Spock’s unmoving personality.

And yet, even with Spock’s years of teachings and discipline, Jim appeared to be the master of disguise. He was so incredibly skilled at hiding what he was feeling, putting on a brave face to conceal the emotion that existed below.

Jim had seen things in his life that no man should see. Tarsus IV, his encounter with Carol Marcus, the death of his family on Deneva. And even when he watched the life move from his sister law’s eyes, he had handled it with grace and humility… just as he did with every unfortunate incident that had claimed the lives of his deceased crew members.

It was inspiring for McCoy, yet heartbreaking. As captain of a starship, Jim was expected to be these things. As Starfleet had termed it _‘mentally, physically, and emotionally in control’_. Since McCoy had been in the medical field for decades, he had to bite his lip in order to fight his instincts to argue those orders. It was necessary for all living things to have a healthy release of emotions.

 _Jim_ needed a healthy release of emotions, whether he was captain or not.

This was most definitely one of those times. Jim hadn’t slept, he hadn’t been eating. He was torn up inside at the abuse his friend had endured recently at the hands of Sovik. He was angry, he was grief stricken, and yet because Jim was the way he was, he carried it on inside himself, unwilling to let others in and see.

It was hurting McCoy all the same. Spock, though irritating from time to time— more often than not— was a good friend of his. It was painful to see someone he cared so deeply for treated with such indignity and disrespect. To see those markings across his battered body made his stomach turn. He couldn’t even fathom what it was like for Jim. To see the man he loved beaten and abused to such a degree was bound to be haunting.

“Jim,” McCoy muttered under his breath. “We’re doing all we can for Spock, he…”

“I know,” Jim insisted, shaking his head yet his eyes still deeply fascinated by the spot on the table he had been attentively staring at for the past five minutes. “I know. You’re doing everything you can.”

McCoy pursed his lips together, giving him an uncertain look. “Jim, he’s looking better.”

Jim simply nodded his head again, finally looking away at the wall, his eyes focusing stiffly on the cabinets encasing the large amounts of foreign beverages McCoy seemed to be collecting from their travels.

“I know it’s hard to see him like this, and you don’t like the fact that you can’t talk to him, but …”

“I can’t have Spock not make it, Bones! You can’t just _try_ … you have to do!” Jim raised his voice, demanding this of McCoy by slamming his hands to the desk between them. “He’s the best first officer the Federation’s ever had!”

“And you _love_ him, Jim… I know.” McCoy filled in the blanks, crossing his arms, breathing steadily through his nose. “We all know, Jim, and we’re all trying our damndest.”

Jim’s hands softened against the table, his face blushing red brighter than McCoy had ever seen it before. “I know you are…” Jim leaned back in his chair. “I just can’t help how I feel.”

“Of course you can’t, Jim,” McCoy agreed. “The person you love is in there with a toxic substance swimming around in his veins and brain, and he’s just been horrifically raped.”

Jim swallowed hard, giving McCoy a questioning look, “I would take his place in a heartbeat Bones… I just _hate_ to see him… to see him so…” Jim closed his eyes, physically searching for the word he wished to use. “... quiet,” he decided on, opening his eyes once again.

“I’ll say,” McCoy grumbled beneath his breath.

“And what about Spock’s bond with Sovik? Is numbing their telepathy pathways really going to get rid of it safely?” Jim asked, trying to shift the subject as far away from his relationship with Spock as possible. It wasn’t so much the fact that he enjoyed his life to be lived in relative privacy, but at the moment, it hurt too much to consider it: what was, what had happened, and what would ultimately be, for them.

“Well, we’re not numbing him just to break the bond. We’re doing it to protect Spock until we can get a Vulcan healer aboard. There should be one at the Starbase.” McCoy explained, “From what M’Benga’s told me, it’s quite the process to try and sever it successfully. You don’t get too many _accidental_ bonds on Vulcan.”

Jim nodded his head, reminding himself of just how different a life on Vulcan was compared to that of Earth… how taboo sexual activities were on that planet, and how reserved those who had it were. From the brief research he did, melding was a strong component of their mating, and so it only stood to reason that a Vulcan enduring Pon Farr would need that mental contact as well, thus initiating some sort of immature bond.

As Jim opened his mouth to speak there was a crashing noise, followed by the shattering of glass, causing Jim to leap out of his chair with wide open eyes.

“Sovik?” Jim questioned looking briefly to McCoy and then back toward the door the sounds seemed to be emanating from.

“Sounds like it’s from the same room,” McCoy agreed, following Jim to the door. As they drew closer, Jim reached for his phaser, preparing the dial and turning it to stun rather than kill. He was certain he wasn’t going to need it; however, if he were to walk in on a similar sight he had back in Spock’s room, he was sure he would indeed make good use of it.

The doors automatically opened to reveal before them a sight that neither of them had been prepared for...a sight that caused Jim to fumble his phaser, nearly dropping it to the floor.

-

 

**Moments earlier**

 

‘ _Wake up.’_

Spock’s face twitched with discomfort and reluctance.

And then there was silence once again.

 _‘Wake up!’_ a voice beckoned a second time, this time annoyance clearly present in its tone.

It had been the voice again, the one that had called for him from what seemed to be miles away. Only now, he could feel it right up against his ear, as though it were talking to him from just outside his lobe.

Spock’s mind swam for a moment, then gently lulled itself back to sleep, daring to embrace the notion of safety.

“ _WAKE UP!”_

Spock’s eyes snapped opened, his mouth opening wide, gasping for air. He couldn’t seem to take enough into his lungs feeling as if the entire room was sealed tight and all the air having disappeared out an airlock.

The room was darker, the lights dimmed and pointed away from him. He tried to resettle himself into the bed, reminding himself that everything would be fine— that he could breathe, think, and see. He was fine.

As he tried to lift his hand, he noticed that his forearm was bare, and when he ran his eyes up his arm, he noticed that he was not wearing his standard Starfleet uniform; instead, he was dressed in what critical condition patients wore in the ship’s sickbay.

  1. It had finally clicked for Spock. He was, in fact, lying on one of the biobeds in sickbay.



His breathing began to normalize as he dropped his head onto the pillow, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate the pain away. He felt bursts of it coming from his head as well his lower back. His face was beginning to hurt something awful...

Slowly, he brought his finger to his lip, just beneath his nose. As he dragged it along the fleshy space, he noticed a strange liquid present. Once he brought it to his sight, he recognized it immediately. _Green._

There was such an incredible pressure building in his head that he was not particularly shocked by the sight of it on his fingers.

He turned to look around the room once more, the life sign readings the only thing audible in the room. His readings appeared to be decent, considering the pain he was experiencing. Spock continued to inspect the room, when suddenly his eyes fell on the bed in front of him, his heart racing mercilessly in his side.

Spock swallowed hard, lulling his head to the side, trying, no, _begging_ himself to fall back asleep. He tried to force himself into some type of healing trance, just in order to escape the man one bed over. Whether he was dead, alive, or sleeping, Spock did not want to share a space with someone as monstrous as the one across from him.

He began clearing his mind, trying to focus his energy on the areas of his body that were starting to ache. His arms, his hands, his head, his back… he began attempting to arrange his systems to fight those areas of distress first, only something slithered in between those commands, making it difficult.

_“You are awake.”_

Spock perked his brow, breathing heavily once again, opening his eyes and looking directly at Sovik’s bed. He began inching his way to the furthest edge of his own bed, making an escape plan in his head should Sovik suddenly spring forward.

“ _Come, Spock.”_

Sovik’s words were so clear, Spock could replay them over and over again with ease. How was it that Sovik could so effortlessly communicate these things across to him? He could sense the distress coming from his voice, even without a single trace of speech.

“Sovik?” Spock called out below a whisper, his voice hoarse from disuse. He softened again into the bed, listening to Sovik against his mind.

_“Come to me.”_

Spock shook his head, lifting the blanket off of him and trying to slip from his bed without making a single noise. He was a Vulcan… he didn’t need these ancient medical Earth techniques to keep him alive. All he needed was a meditation stone, or a private room to be alone with his thoughts... and no one else’s.

“ _My mind… to your … mind,”_ the voice now appeared to be growing fainter, weaker as Spock distanced himself. Once Spock had finally stepped off the bed, Sovik’s voice was nothing but a whisper in the back of his head.

He turned back to face him, limping forward slightly, then fumbling to grab the bed in order to steady himself. Spock kept his eyes on Sovik, his body twitching uncontrollably.

That was when the nausea kicked in, sending Spock toppling over onto the bed again, gripping the sheets and nearly dragging them off the mattress. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to control his motor movements.

 _“I am Vulcan… I can do this,”_ Spock told himself, heaving himself up again, and wobbling over to the wall next to Sovik’s bed.

As he gazed down at Sovik, he noticed tiny slits for eyes. Sovik was conscious, but not entirely so. As Spock took another shaky step over, Sovik made no indication of recognizing his movements, which was just as well. Spock did not wish to be seen as he did what he had to do.

Spock struggled to bring his feet forward again, stumbling ahead of himself and catching his balance on Sovik’s arm. Before he could even realize what he had done, he pulled his hands away, the heat coming off of Sovik’s body too much for his sensitive digits to encounter.

“Sovik…” Spock whispered, looking down at the Vulcan with concern.

There was no response. Sovik was stiff and unable to see. He opened his eyes slightly, and to Spock’s utter shock, he noticed a layer of what appeared to be pinguecula, growing over the pupils, making it appear as though a white film were building over it.

Spock’s fascination grew; he was not deterred from the callous that seemed to form over the eyes he had been haunted by for days now.. the ones that seemed to always watch him from the darkest of shadows. He simply brought his fingers gently over Sovik’s eyes, dragging the lids downward to conceal the blistering organs.

“ _Sovik_ ,” Spock unknowingly stressed to him. He grounded himself to the bed with his hands, leaning forward and noticing the paling skin across Sovik’s face. He raised his brow.

“ _Spock… please… take me from this place,”_ Sovik seemed to beg through their link, clinging to it as though it was the last thing he could grasp.

Slowly, Spock brought himself around the bed, steadying himself all the way around by holding the sides of the mattress. His eyes never left Sovik’s burning up form. He finally made it to Sovik’s side.

Agony. Sovik appeared to be in complete and utter agony. His frame stiffly trembled against the bed, head shaking ever so slightly. Though their bodies were separated by a little space, Spock could almost feel the pain coming off of Sovik in waves—a pain Spock felt he could equate to some of the torture he had taken over the past few days.

He closed his eyes, trying to push his own discomfort aside. It was clear in his mind what he was to do at this time. Sovik was suffering, and though to some it would be a pleasant thought, to Spock, he found it everything _but._ To watch any living thing suffer without comfort was a troubling thought.

His pinky pressed into Sovik’s cheek bone, becoming roused by the psi point he encountered there. Then his forefinger brushed against his forehead, his other digits automatically falling into place.

Sovik’s eyes gently opened again, and though he must have been severely blinded by the strange growths sheathing his eyes, he turned them to Spock’s direction, watching him as Spock peered down at him.

Before initiating anything, Spock took a moment to gather himself. It was bizarre preparing himself to delve into the mind of his attacker, the one he had been wishing to distance himself from for days upon days. Ever since Sovik had rushed into his room and stripped him of his worth, Spock had dreaded the way he constantly felt the Vulcan’s mind against his own.

He had never felt what it was like in Sovik’s mind. During the attacks, Sovik had always made a conscious effort to take control, to disallow any contact against his own mind.

Yet, he could not hold himself back. Scientific, personal curiosity, and fascination were beginning to eat away at him. Little by little, he felt himself giving in. Besides, it was beyond unpleasant to see Sovik suffering as he was with his body burning to intense degrees and reacting to the intense medications the doctors were giving him out of hope for avoiding the inevitable.

And it was so like humans to challenge fate… to challenge what was and what would be.

He pressed his fingers firmly against Sovik’s psi points, furrowing his brows thoughtfully. “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts,” he spoke softly, feeling his mind sync into Sovik’s and Sovik’s thoughts once again rushing into his.

Everything got exponentially smaller, the world around them almost non-existent. The only things Spock could feel at the moment were flames engulfing him, pulling him deeper and deeper into Sovik’s consciousness.

There, he found only more agony.

Searing pain rushed through Spock’s body, some of which felt familiar. The heat mixed with the aggravation sparked memories within Spock’s own consciousness: memories of battling his captain on the hot desert sands of Vulcan, and then nearly taking his life.

Then, he experienced what felt like hands gripped him by the throat, restricting the air filling his lungs. He could feel his pulse slamming against the tight fist-like pressure. He tried to wriggle free from his entrapment, regretting ever stepping foot into the realm of Sovik’s mind.

Even through the chaos Spock was enduring, he noticed his surroundings, almost personally. It appeared to look like some strange, exotic location on his home planet. The sun was beaming down on him so brightly that he could feel it burning his cheeks and staining them a darker colour.

As he squinted around at his environment, he noticed pillars which attached to a nearby building, obviously from a traditional Vulcan architect, appearing so similar to his own home.

Spock felt a slight longing for home. There was something so refreshing about this location, something that made Spock exhale, even with the phantom pressure building around his neck.

However, it was difficult to see as the space around him seemed to sway in heat. Like the steam rolling off of the pavement in the summer, Spock nearly melted as he felt his mind becoming incredibly tired.

So tired.

The heat reminded Spock of his experience with Pon Farr, as well as reminded him of his childhood, back when he had endured his kahs-wan. It was that which had influenced Spock to proceed his life as a full Vulcan by surviving in the wilderness on nothing but his logic alone.

His kahs-wan had been like this, extremely hot and difficult to bear. Yet determination had pressed Spock forward, and he had succeeded in his journey. When he had returned home to his father, he remembered that even for a full-blooded Vulcan, Sarek had been proud of him… one of the only times Spock could remember him being so.

Spock closed his eyes, the heat reminding him also of his failure.

As Spock raised his chin again, he noticed a figure approaching him through the dense fog and the ripples of heat waving off the sand beneath his feet. He squinted toward it, lowering his brows quizzically.

It had been Sovik bringing with him a flood of anguish. Spock physically turned away from the impact of it against his skull. He could feel his presence like claws against his brain, almost as though he were attacking him again.

Spock cringed, taking a step back,  finding it difficult to do so when he felt so incredibly weak and unbalanced, the sweltering heat making him heavy and lethargic

“Spock!” Sovik called out, reaching for him as though he were blind. “Spock!”

The sound of his name on Sovik’s tongue was painful to bear. It reminded him of the way Sovik’s mind had been calling to him in his dream, as he worked on the bridge. Sovik had used his name to assure his dominance, to order Spock around and make sure that his desires were fulfilled.

He couldn’t bear to listen to it any longer. He couldn’t bear to have the impression of Sovik’s mind on his for another moment.

Finally, the image of Sovik was standing a few paces before him, like a ghost in this mental landscape. His height was shorter than Spock had remembered it to be. He was wearing a beautiful ceremonial robe--the colour white--which blended beautifully into their surroundings. Spock admired it silently, and yet simultaneously felt absolutely appalled.

“Spock,” Sovik greeted, sounding remarkably calm given how discomforting the world around them was becoming with every passing second. The heat made them sweat through their robes, their bodies wracked in shivers.

Before Spock could reply, he felt the ground beneath his feet erupt, rumbling as though the realm in which they were both residing in was falling apart—the edge of a cliff finally giving way.

“I believe I do not have much time to speak with you,” Sovik explained, his voice weak and stressed as he shouted over the increasing chaotic noise from around them. It was a cacophony of rattling and metal bending--the sound of destruction.

Spock’s eyes shied away, averting from Sovik, and feeling his knees shake in time with the vibrations from the earth below.

“ _Spock_ ,” Sovik reached out, placing his hand on Spock’s shoulder, turning his body to face him, “I must ask something of you.”

Spock’s heart began throbbing in his throat, unsure what to answer or how to respond while Sovik’s hand remained on his shoulder, tightening for a moment before releasing him. As the hand moved away, it became somewhat easier to breathe, to think.

“I will endeavor to make it so, Sovik,” Spock replied, his hands clenching behind his back, feeling sweaty and uncertain.

Though this had only been a symbol of both their minds linking together, Spock noticed that Sovik’s shoulders and overall appearance seemed quite content. He did not look as rigid as he had when he first boarded the Enterprise, and he surely did not seem so bitter. In fact, if Spock did not know better, he would have assumed Sovik was happy.

Spock raised a brow. _Fascinating._

“You are near death?” Spock questioned, watching the older Vulcan fumble slightly, his expression remarkably still and silent like a calm lake undisturbed by the wind.

“Spock, I beg you. The Renneral…” Sovik paused to breathe, taking in a deep and scratchy breath, the calmness in his expression disappearing. Spock winced at the sound of it. “Destroy it… do not allow it to make it to Starfleet.”

Spock tilted his head, considering the thought for a moment. Yet, he could not for the life of him understand what the RU-598’s Renneral substance had to do with anything that was happening. He shook his head, “Out of the question…”

Sovik shook his head. “Destroy it, Spock! Destroy it or thousands may suffer a similar fate!” His hands reached out for Spock again, only Spock had anticipated the outburst and moved himself back, fearful of what would happen should Sovik make contact with him again.

“The RU-598 project is far too precious to your peers, as well as to you and your T’Leia. To destroy years of work and scientific accomplishments as you have would be a crime against science,” Spock explained, squinting his eyes, the sun was growing in intensity, beginning to aggravate his eyes. It made him think of Sovik’s eyes on the biobed, blistered and damaged. He suddenly wished to close his own, but refrained.

“Destroy it!” Sovik lashed out, his hands twitching at his sides, “It’s what has driven us mad, it’s what killed my beloved T’Leia!” He gripped in frustration. “It took her life just as it is taking my own.”

Spock peered downward, his entire body shivering with discomfort. “Sovik…”

“I only ask this of you,” Sovik pleaded, his face looking much more concerned than it had ever looked before, vulnerable even. “I _beg_ this of you.”

Spock watched him closely, noticing the genuine look of angst growing across his face. He felt a part in his stomach knot. How could he deny Sovik of this? It reminded him of the promise he had sworn to his previous captain, that when his condition progressed beyond the point of repair, Spock would return him to Talos IV, so that he may live his life exactly how he had dreamed to.

Slowly, Spock closed his eyes, silently accepting it as a gesture of kindness on his part. Though Sovik had tormented him, tortured him possibly beyond repair, Spock still could not withhold a dying man’s final request.

“I must ask one more personal favour of you,” Sovik continued, looking away from Spock somewhat awkwardly.

Spock shook his head, turning to look at Sovik’s shame and guilt. “No, Sovik. You do not.”

Neither of them spoke for a short time, the sound of crumbling turf sounding loudly between them. The intensely luminous sun grew brighter against their faces, and Spock turned to look at Sovik again.

“Are you experiencing much pain?” Spock questioned, knowing the answer from his scientific assessment of the meld. However, he wished to gain some knowledge of it from Sovik’s perspective. What was dying like? What was it like to know that there was no escaping something so mysterious, so...unknown?

Sovik did not answer immediately, “I do not fear what is to come of me,” he replied, “If there is indeed life proceeding death, I speculate that I will not be alone.” A faint smile appeared over his lips.

“Sovik,” Spock turned to face him head on, “I apologize, as my shields are weak, and if I seem to speak out of emotion, I do not wish to offend. But, I must admit, after the torment in which you have put me through within the past few days, there is one question that has been plaguing me.”

Sovik shamefully turned his eyes down to the sand, obviously uncomfortable with his actions in regard to his and Spock’s encounter. However, this did not deter Spock, after what he had endured, and he was certain Sovik could handle speaking of it.

“Why would you express such distaste for my captain?” Spock asked, lowering his brows. “Why would you make a deliberate action to hurt him on the multiple occasions that you had?”

“It is difficult for me to explain what happened during the brief time we have come in contact, Spock. My condition prevents me from retaining memories as well as controlling myself,” he explained, shaking his head, “For what I have done, I do wish to apologize.”

“That does not answer my question, Sovik,” Spock responded, feeling guilty for Sovik’s apology. As he was now, he felt almost responsible for what had happened. He felt like if there was anybody to blame for what had happened, it was Spock, and Spock alone.

“Before setting foot on your ship, I was certain I would suffer the same fate as my bondmate, T’Leia. I knew that I was in the midst of a Pon Farr cycle, and when I had seen you, all hopelessness was suddenly lost. If I courted you, perhaps melding with a fellow Vulcan would ease the strain of my condition,” Sovik explained, looking off into the bright sun as he spoke. “Your captain is an extremely dominant figure aboard your ship. When I saw how closely linked the two of you were, I became possessive and defensive. He was my one and only threat to survival.”

Spock’s brow crept upward, then instantly fell, “I do not understand how you would make this conclusion between my captain and myself.”

“The t’hy’la bond between you both is undeniable. It almost enraged me how close you and he had become.” Sovik bowed his head respectfully. “I am not proud of my actions aboard your ship.”

“I would not be either,” Spock agreed, watching all confidence wipe clean from Sovik’s expression. “However, I cannot accept your apology as you are not requiredto give one.”

Sovik shook his head, about to speak when suddenly the ground shook again, this time sending them both almost entirely to the floor.

“My time is extremely limited,” Sovik coughed, his voice fading, sounding much older than it should.

Spock placed his hands on Sovik’s elbows, hiking him so that he was standing once again.

Sovik dusted himself off, looking over to the sun once again. “Spock, _remember_ ,” he spoke clearly, looking into Spock’s eyes a moment, and then lifting his hand, separating his fingers into the ta’al. Spock weakly mirrored him.

“Live Long and Prosper, Spock.”

Spock bowed his head in return. “I shall endeavor to do so,” Spock replied when suddenly, the world around him was blurred out, like the sun was blinding him. He finally realized that his fingers were no longer touching Sovik’s burning skin, and instead he was now stumbling back. Arms reached out for him, but failed to catch him completely, and he soon found himself sitting on the hard floor, completely depleted of breath.

-

 

The doors automatically opened to reveal before them a sight that neither had been prepared for...a sight that caused Jim to fumble for his phaser, nearly dropping it on the floor.

A few paces away from Jim and the doctor was Spock’s weak form, standing at Sovik’s side, fingers pressed to his face. Their eyes were closed softly. As he moved forward, Jim could see the stern expression on Sovik’s face, the increased pace in his breathing. He did not appear to be well at all, and so Jim’s concern skyrocketed at the thought of Spock melding with him in such a condition.

“Spock!” Jim began to charge, only to have McCoy grab hold of Jim’s arm, yanking him back.

“Don’t be so goddamn trigger happy, Jim!” McCoy bit back, pulling Jim’s shirt back until he was at his side again. “I don’t think you can just separate them when they are like that!”

Jim’s eyes widened, looking over McCoy’s expression cautiously. “You mean we could end up hurting him?”

“ _Both_ of them,” McCoy corrected and approached the wall, slamming his fist into the intercom button. “Doctor M’Benga, report to sickbay immediately!”

Jim nodded his head, running over to Spock’s side, watching the nearly painful concentration on Spock’s face. He was so deep in his meld with Sovik that it seemed almost impossible that he could separate his fingers from the places they touched.

Spock’s face twitched, an expression of what appeared to be sorrow coming over his features. He was deeply concentrated on Sovik’s mind against his own. Jim could tell by the faint way Spock moved his lips.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim stressed through his teeth, looking between Spock and Sovik, wondering what the two of them could be communicating, and why. Why did Spock get out of the comfort  of his bed to meld with Sovik? And how did Spock manage to wake himself from his coma state to do it? How did he manage the strength?

McCoy hurried over to the monitors to look over Sovik’s readings, unfortunately unable to do so for Spock without one of his handy medical tricorders. He ran a check of Sovik’s vitals, saw his respiratory rate increase as the moments passed, his body temperature steadily rising.

“He’s going to do serious damage to his brain if his temperature keeps rising like this,” McCoy mumbled, reaching to the intercom by the monitor. “Nurse!”

“Whose brain?” Jim asked, looking down at the both of them, their breathing equally hitched.

McCoy raised his eyes to Jim. “Again, Jim. _Both_ of them.”

Jim felt his heart jump into his throat, sitting there painfully until he felt a person walk behind him. When he turned his head, he recognized Nurse Chapel.

“Yes, Doctor…” she replied, suddenly catching sight of Sovik and Spock melding on the biobed between Jim and the doctor. “Doctor, what happened to…”

“Never mind, bring some of those freezer packs! Set them to zero degrees!” McCoy shouted after Christine as she leapt to fetch them. His attention returned to his patients, trying to figure out just what _would_ happen if he simply separated Spock’s hand from Sovik’s meld points.

Once Christine returned with the packs, they began surrounding Sovik with them, trying to stabilize his temperature while waiting for M’Benga to report to sickbay.

McCoy slammed his fist against the night stand. “Why is this man still dying?” he questioned out loud, trying to figure out why Sovik’s temperature was still steadily increasing.

Spock’s hand began to tremble against Sovik’s cheek, loosening slightly, but remaining in place. His face twisted momentarily into something appearing to be pain, but settled moments after.

M’Benga soon rushed in with a concerned expression, brows raised slightly. When he fully entered, Jim turned to acknowledge him, noticing the wet hair on top of his head, dripping down his face. It was clear why he had been late.

“Doctor McCo…” M’Benga paused mid sentence, watching the scene taking place on the bed. He gradually made his way to them, eyeing the two Vulcans and then the readings above their heads.

“They’re melding, and I wasn’t sure whether or not it would be safe to separate them,” McCoy sighed, watching Spock’s hands tremble, tightening its hold on Sovik’s face.

M’Benga placed his hands on his hips, puffing his bottom lip out in thought. “They are engaged in a meld, initiated by Spock. Since they are both contaminated with this Renneral substance, and Sovik’s in the midst of this endless Pon Farr cycle, I believe it would be far too dangerous to separate them.”

“What could happen?” Jim asked, his brows lowered intensely as he gazed at the doctor. He couldn’t accept such a fate for Spock.

“It could permanently leave a severed bond between them. You could destroy either one’s katra, and possibly damage neural receptors attached to their telepathic lobes.” M’Benga explained, shaking his head gently.

Jim stiffened, grabbing hold of the blanket over Sovik’s bed. His lip curled angrily as he stepped around the bed, “Are you telling me, we’re supposed to just sit here and watch?” Jim asked humorously, despite feeling zero humor at all. When M’Benga did not reply, Jim pressed further, “I’m _ordering_ you to find an alternative. You and Bones might be in charge in this room, but my word is final on this ship, and I don’t want Spock and Sovik’s mind linked for a second more!”

McCoy exhaled in frustration, “Geoffrey, I hate to admit it, but Jim’s got a point. We can’t wait and watch while Sovik’s burning up turns into convulsions. I took some readings on Spock’s life signs, and his temperature is rising just as fast. If they keep this up they are going to seriously damage their internal organs, if not do worse.”

There was only silence for a moment, until finally M’Benga spoke. “It’s on Spock now. Only he can break the meld. If I was a trained Vulcan healer I could interfere, but I’m not. We’ll _have_ to wait and watch if we’re going to want to see these men alive.”

“Well by the looks of it, we’re going to lose them either way,” McCoy noted sadly, looking at Spock’s rigid figure.

Jim stood aside, intensely staring at Spock from afar, wondering which way to gamble his odds—that had been after all, the key to Jim’s chess success over the years. It was his ability to go with his gut instincts which made him superior to Spock’s logic almost every time.

However, this wasn’t a game of chess. They were gambling with lives here—one of which  Jim cherished more than anyother in the entire galaxy. Even after all that they had been through, he was still incredibly lovestruck by every aspect of Spock, his body already physically rejecting the thought of his death.

Suddenly, Spock’s fingers began to slip, McCoy and M’Benga too busy with administering the hypospray into Sovik’s neck to do anything about it.

Jim stepped forward, reaching out to Spock but not touching. He wanted so desperately to take him into his arms, rip him away from Sovik, and hold him. It wasn’t because Spock was too weak, but because his affection for Spock was growing so rapidly by the minute that he could think of no other way to show him how much he cared than a simple embrace.

Then, Spock fell back, pulling his hand toward himself, almost as though it had been burned on Sovik’s skin. He stumbled back, bumping into Jim’s arms, but then faltering to the floor. Luckily, Jim had stepped over in time, able to catch Spock before his head made contact with the floor.

He knelt down, pulling Spock up by the shoulders, and setting him comfortably in a sitting position. “Spock!” he breathed out in concern, “Are you alright?”

Spock’s eyes were open wide, almost as though he were in disbelief. He blankly stared toward the bed but made no indication that he saw anything.

Unsure where exactly each was needed, McCoy and M’Benga shifted their eyes between both Sovik and Spock.

“Nurse! See to Spock!” McCoy demanded, pressing another hypo to Sovik’s neck.

Christine made her way around the bed, kneeling next to Jim and Spock on the floor. She ran a medical tricorder over his body, then gently placed the back of her hand against Spock’s forehead.

As she continued her medical duties, Jim couldn’t help but gaze at Spock as though it would be the last time. He neared his face to Spock’s, “What happened, Spock?” he mumbled with concern, lowering his brows sadly.

Spock turned his head in Jim’s direction, finally catching sight of Jim’s eyes, and then blinking to somewhat double check if what he was seeing was indeed true.

“ _Jim_?” Spock asked, lifting his hand slowly, almost touching Jim on the face but hesitating and then falling to the ground.

“What happened?” Jim asked again, placing three of his fingers softly against the top of Spock’s fallen hand. “Why were you melding with Sovik?”

Spock’s head fell back, his eyes fluttering for a moment just as Jim caught it. “Careful,” Jim whispered, holding Spock’s head upright.

Medical jargon was being thrown around the room as Jim stared intently at Spock. He could only hear the doctors struggling to keep Sovik alive. The hiss of hyposprays and fumbling with freezer packs.

“Sovik…” Spock weakly said, feeling Christine’s hand tenderly feel his forehead for a second time, “Sovik… is…”

Jim looked over to Christine, offering her a look to move her hand from where it was on his face. “What happened to Sovik?” he asked, looking back to him sweetly.

“He is, no longer,” Spock finally sighed, closing his eyes. He leaned his head into Jim’s chest, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

Jim’s eyes, in contrast, opened wide as he watched Spock’s tired head press into Jim’s racing heart. Spock would never know the intense pain he felt at this moment, the way he felt incredible guilt for having possibly caused some of this pain in Spock.

“Sovik’s…no longer?” Jim repeated, swallowing hard. He shook his head, not fully understanding Spock’s meaning. “What do you mean…no longer?”

It was then that the repetitive blinking sounds above Sovik’s bed went silent. Nobody said a word for a full minute until McCoy brought his hand to his forehead, wiping the sweat off from above his brow.

He then turned to Jim, his eyes stunned and still over Jim’s. “He’s dead, Jim.”

-

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OBVIOUSLY, the WARNINGS include: character death. 
> 
> If you want to send me something privately feel free to send it through tumblr [here](-am-cem.tumblr.com) or you can shoot me an email at iamcemxox@gmail.com!!! :) I'm always looking to follow new blogs and to chat with fellow spirk fans!!! :)
> 
> Live Long and Prosper.


	21. Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been deciding for a while now to write a sequel to Unforgettable following this story. It'll be an optional sequel, so for those who just want to leave the story where it is, I can definitely respect that and you can pretend like the next story doesn't exist at all. But I am so excited to write it, and I feel like it'll be necessary to write in order to really flesh out the impacts of what happened to Spock. <3 
> 
> Thank you so much to plaidshirtjimkirk for betaing my chapter SUPER fast and in depthly, but also I'd like to thank her for being there for me always. <3 so thank you plaid! I highly recommend her fics to everyone! If you haven't already, PLEASE check out her awesome collection [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) !!! IT's incredible, and inspiring to read for me, <3 so please enjoy that. 
> 
> The title is inspired by the song "Space Oddity" by the one and only DAVID BOWIE!!! :D 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper everyone! PLEASE ENJOY! :D

**Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?**

 

Spock felt cold in Jim’s arms. His head was tilted back against Jim’s chest, body too exhausted to lift it. It was simpler to remain here, eyes closed, the steady in and out of Jim’s breathing soothing to Spock, almost like a lullaby.

“I don’t understand,” said Jim. There were vibrations from the sound of his voice, and despite the concern there, Spock clearly found it soothing as well.

Jim had very little hope for Sovik’s survival the moment he walked in on him strangling Spock with the strap of the tricorder. When Jim had hit him with the Vulcan artifact he had found on the floor of Spock’s quarters, Sovik had passed out, and Jim knew from that moment that Sovik would never be the same.

And yet, never being the same was entirely different from death.

 _Death_.

Jim hated the word. It was not something he feared per se, since he had in fact faced it on many levels during his life. Whenever one of his crew members passed, Jim felt a sense of responsibility. And for some strange reason, Jim felt that way with Sovik’s passing also--almost as though he were the one to metaphorically _pull the plug_ , on him.

He tightened his grasp on Spock’s arm, forgetting that it was too tight for Spock’s circulation. He was having such a hard time holding onto the information he’d just received, as well as controlling the concern he had for his dearest Spock. He felt that by holding him, somehow he was easing that guilt, perhaps reminding himself of the soul Sovik tortured.

McCoy looked the most disappointed out of everyone. The way his hand rested against Sovik’s lifeless body, or how he bit his bottom lip before looking up to Nurse Chapel said as much. Anyone looking in his direction could see his unease and disquiet as he directed his eyes to a door across the room. When he looked back to Chapel, she bowed her head, and crossed the space for a thin white sheet.

Jim felt Spock shift his arms, silently reminding him that his hold was too tight. Without speaking, Jim loosened his grip, and peered down at Spock apologetically. “Spock, are you alright?”

Spock tilted his head back, bumped Jim’s shoulder, and lifted it again. He didn’t reply, his eyes speaking novels about what he was feeling inside. He didn’t dare look at Jim directly, too afraid of what he could possibly see.

Nurse Chapel unfolded the white sheet, letting the bottom drop and the ends cascade above the ground gracefully and quietly. She waved it about slightly to work out the kinks, then gently began to cover Sovik from his toes up.

Just as she reached Sovik’s midsection, Spock began speaking, heart thumping powerfully in his side against Jim’s arms. Shocked, both Jim and McCoy peered back at him.

“Sovik asked one thing of me before he passed…” Spock spoke weakly, eyes half-closed in absolute exhaustion.

McCoy turned to face him, brow raising. “He _asked_ something of you? You mean you two were _shooting the breeze_ during that meld we thought was going to kill you?” McCoy asked heatedly, not quite sure why he felt so aggravated by the idea… possibly because he’d felt terrified moments ago at the thought of losing Spock.

“ _Bones_ ,” Jim hissed, giving him a pointed glare and then motioning him with his eyes for help. He started lifting Spock from under his shoulders until he was standing weakly. McCoy eventually made his way to Spock’s side, assisting him to the biobed he stumbled out of.

“What did he say, Spock?” Jim asked, settling Spock down onto the bed comfortably, making sure to support the back of his head, taking care that it did not fall ungracefully to the pillow...

Spock gave Jim a grateful glance before he gazed at Jim thankfully for a moment, then relaxed into the bed. “Do not allow the Renneral to reach Starfleet,” he mumbled to the best of his abilities, his tone growing softer and milder. The meld had seemingly drained Spock of all energy. He could barely keep his eyelids open.

McCoy shot a glance at Jim, almost wearily awaiting Jim’s response. He knew that Jim’s reaction would likely be of the more emotional side.

“Did he specify?” Jim asked, eyebrows lowered in concern and increasing anger. He couldn’t fully understand what Spock meant by disallowing the Renneral material to reach Starfleet, but he had a strong feeling that it had been a request of Sovik’s...and that was what boiled his blood. Was there some prior knowledge to the Renneral’s effects? Did Sovik know all along that it could possibly kill Spock?

And suddenly things made a lot more sense.  

Spock’s eyes rolled back slightly, his skin went pale. McCoy stepped forward, cradling the back of his head in order to prop it up, “Are you going to be sick, Spock?” McCoy asked gently, rubbing his thumb soothingly against his back. It was always a pleasant sight to see McCoy display such comfort--always reminded Jim of just how much McCoy cared about those around him.

Jim felt his heart rate increasing, his eyes glued on Spock’s hands. He could not forget about the information he had just received. Sovik must have known the Renneral’s effects much too late to save himself, and perhaps infecting Spock was his only means of survival.

He clenched his fists heatedly, trying hard to bite back the anger he felt pool in his stomach. He tried repeating to himself that this was not the time, that he could not lose his control now when Spock was in such distress.

Almost as though Spock had read Jim’s thoughts and concerns, he felt a shaky hand barely hold onto his arm. And yet as loose a grasp as it was, Jim could feel the determination in the gesture, knowing Spock refused to let go.

Jim raised his eyes to watch as McCoy waved a medical tricorder over Spock’s body, the readings appearing over his head.

Then, Jim dropped his eyes back to the hand holding to his arm, and he watched as the grip slowly tightened. He took that moment to inspect Spock’s hands. They had always been one of Jim’s favourite things on Spock. He loved how long each finger was, how elegant they were, and yet with all delicate features aside, they were the most powerful hands on the entire ship. If aroused, his strength could paralyze a man, or completely crumple metal as though it were a sheet of paper.

Spock quickly glanced to McCoy before he leaned back into the bed, his eyes shifting over to Jim once again, grip slipping. “The Renneral… it killed T’Leia,” Spock explained, his eyes silently admiring Jim’s. They both stayed silent for a moment and Jim felt compelled to hold on to Spock’s shoulder in support.

“We figured as much,” Jim replied and watched McCoy nod his head in his peripheral vision. He assumed the doctor felt the same awkwardness that he felt--the awkwardness of knowing so much more than Spock initially thought they did concerning the Renneral.

“The Renneral is what’s making you sick,” McCoy finally admitted to Spock, checking over Spock’s vitals as if he was trying to find a means of escape for their last discussion.

Spock arched his brow, then slowly let it fall as he allowed for the information to sick in. What Spock’s inner reaction to the news _was_ , was anybody’s guess. It was always so difficult to determine what Spock was feeling and thinking during normal times--never mind a difficult situation like this.

“Fascinating,” was the eventual response Spock gave. He bowed his head sleepily, sighing quietly under his breath.

McCoy rolled his eyes, sharing a pleasant glance with Jim--a glance that emphasized the countless memories of that particular phrase.

Jim pursed his lips together, returning his attention to Spock who was deep in thought, peering down the bed at his feet. Jim’s heart softened immensely, loosening his grip on Spock’s shoulder in the slightest.

“Doctor,” Nurse Chapel interrupted, trying not to take the attention away from Spock and onto herself. She cleared her throat respectfully, “We’re ready to take Doctor Sovik to the morgue now.”

“Very well, Nurse,” McCoy replied softly, turning his head to acknowledge the white sheet over Sovik’s body. He felt his heart uncharacteristically twist at the sight of it, the eeriness that emanated from beneath the blanket causing McCoy’s skin to crawl.  

That was not the typical reaction McCoy exhibited when exposed to the dead. He usually had it in himself to detach from the situation; after all he’d seen hundreds of dead bodies in his time as chief medical officer, Jim knew this.

However, Sovik’s death was strange to them all. Something felt off about the whole situation. Perhaps it had been in the way Sovik had died--the way it was so difficult to determine whether or not his dying was for the best, or a horrible twist of fate.

McCoy turned back to Spock and sighed in obvious disappointment. “I’m sorry this all happened Spock,” McCoy began, unable to help himself from opening this conversation.

Spock raised his brow, considered McCoy’s friendly gesture, then exhaled, himself. Whether it was unpleasant or simply exhaustion, McCoy and Jim could not tell the difference. _Damn_ , that stoic Vulcan exterior.

Jim bit his cheek softly, not sure how to tell Spock he was sorry. He knew in his heart that to apologize for the torment Spock endured should have been easy. He should have been able to open his mouth and tell Spock that none of this would have happened if he would have read the signs… and yet… Jim simply bit his lip in silence.  

All of a sudden a loud shriek startled Jim, as well as the rest of the group. He straightened himself out, protectively moving around Spock’s bed as some strange way of shielding him.

Once he made his way around Spock, he was able to see the source of the disturbance--a shaky, uncontrollable cry, emanating from Sovik’s bedside. Jim nodded his head slowly, released the breath he forgot he was holding, and lowered his shoulders.

“Sovik,” Rebecca sobbed as she pressed her face into the white sheet, her fingers twirled into it desperately. The sheet slowly slipped down Sovik’s body as Rebecca pulled it closer to herself. “No, no,” she droned, struggling to take in enough air to continue her crying.

The sound of the monitor above Spock’s bed began to rise, the heart rate and body temperature increased to an alarming rate, causing Spock to painfully groan.

“Spock,” Jim panicked, as he returned his attention to Spock squirming uncomfortably against the bed. “Bones!” Jim called out as he reached out to support Spock against the bed.

“Get her out of here! Get Sovik out of here!” McCoy ordered, taking hold of Spock’s arm, and pinning it to the bed in order to help Jim keep Spock back.

Rebecca thrashed out at the nurse attempting to pull her off from Sovik. Rebecca tried restlessly to pry the nurse’s hands of off her arms, but was unsuccessful.

“No! Sovik! He can’t be!” She wailed and finally pulled the sheet off as she was dragged over toward the door.

Jim released Spock’s arm once he was sure he was comfortable and calm. He soon walked over to Rebecca and grabbed her by the shoulders, taking her away from the nurse’s grip.

“Rebecca!” He tried to console her, but was ignored as Rebecca continued to weep into his arms. “ _Rebecca,”_ He repeated in a much more soft tone. “Listen to me, get a hold of yourself.”

She dropped her head onto Jim’s shoulder, tears soaking the gold material Jim wore.

“Captain Kirk,” She managed to speak through strained breaths, “He… he can’t be...gone,”

“Shh,” Jim hushed as he soothingly brought his hand to the back of her head calmly. “Shh, he’s gone, Rebecca.”

“No,” She whispered into his shoulder, and finally let go of Sovik’s white sheet which she had dragged along with her. Jim’s eyes scanned the room, trying not to make any direct eye contact with the others in the room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Rebecca’s hug. On one hand, she had been dishonest with his most loved person in the entire galaxy, and yet she had lost the most important person in hers.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his other arm around her securely. “Yes, he’s gone.” He consoled her, turning their bodies so that she could not be witness to the way the nurses covered Sovik’s body again. He pushed her fluffy strands of hair from his face.

She pulled back from Jim, looking over his shoulder at the way they were now placing Sovik onto a hover stretcher, and pushing him toward a door at the other end of the room. She reached out around Jim’s body for him. “Sovik!” She screamed, the tears falling from her eyes. “No! Don’t take him away! He can’t be dead!”

“Sh,” Jim repeated, looking over to McCoy who was hovering over Spock, assuring that he was doing alright. “Listen to me.” Jim steadied her body in front of his, his grip firm around her arms.

“No!” She yelled, pulling her arm away from Jim’s and raising it threateningly. Before Jim could open his mouth to console her again she slapped her palm flat against his cheek which caused his skin to burn and sting under her touch.

“You bastard!” She sobbed. “You let him die!”

McCoy raised his eyes off of Spock, and surveyed the situation while also doing his best to keep Spock’s body temperature low.

“You hated him, you let him die!” She pulled back from Jim, then gave him a deadly glare. “You were so caught up in your boyfriend’s pain, you forgot about everyone else’s!”

“Rebecca!” McCoy called out from beside Spock’s bed, then realized soon after that it really wasn’t the best idea to yell around Spock when he was having this reaction from the startle he just encountered. “That’s _enough_ ,” he stressed in a more controlled manner, placing freezer packs by Spock’s sides.

“Fuck you,” She yelled back to him, and backed up until she bumped into the desk behind her, successfully knocking three vials onto the floor with a crash. “You hated him too! You all hated him!”

Jim furrowed his brows. He didn’t want to have this discussion so close to Spock, but his seething blood made it that much more difficult to stop himself.

“You know, Rebecca, I did hate Sovik. I hated him with a burning passion,” he growled back, and took a step closer to her, “But we did everything in our power to save that man!”

“Bullshit!” She screamed as she clinged to the edge of the desk behind her, tears falling from her face. “You wanted him dead the moment he stepped on this damn ship! And you can bet your ass I’m going to Admiral Reid with this!”

Jim closed his eyes, unclenched his fists and then tightened them again moments after. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling such hate toward the woman, but he had to attempt to remind himself just what she was going through, and that she truly did love the man she lost, just as he truly loved Spock.

The room went silent, only Rebecca’s quiet sobs audible. She lowered her head, and tightly shut her eyes, as though the world around her was nothing but a bad dream.

Jim sighed and finally released the tension in his fists. He then rested his hand onto her shoulder. “Listen, I know this is hard to take in…”

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me.” She looked up from the ground and looked deep into Jim’s eyes. “He didn’t even want to see me, and none of you cared to even call me in to say my final goodbyes.”

“None of us knew he was on his way out,” McCoy explained as he walked closer to them once he was confident he had done all he could for Spock, and that his temperature was finally stabilizing. “We got in here just as Spock and Sovik were locked in that mind meld.”

She shook her head. “Why wouldn’t he want to see me?” Tears fell from her eyes again, and stained her shirt. McCoy pulled a tissue from a nearby desk, offering it wordlessly to Rebecca.

“He was like a father to me.” She accepted the tissue, and brought it to her eyes. “He taught me so much, we spent so much time together. I can’t believe the last we spoke was days ago.”

Jim caressed her arm thoughtfully as he replayed her words over and over again in his head...

_...You were so caught up in your boyfriend’s pain, you forgot about everyone else’s!_

She was so very wrong. Spock and Jim, though he very much cared for him, were not of the romantic sense any longer. But beyond what was meant to be a stab at his affection for Spock, he was deeply hurt by the idea that he had been viewed as someone who did not respect the comfort of those around him. He could have _pulled the plug_ on Sovik way before he died, and yet, he and his crew had shown nothing but compassion for the man. Even after Rebecca had cornered Spock and had Sovik rip away his sanity, everyone had showb nothing but compassion for her too.

He moved aside, allowing McCoy to take control of the situation. He could no longer attempt to comfort the woman who had tormented the better half of his soul.

“ _Rebecca,”_ Spock grumbled from across the room, his tone tired and feathery. Rebecca nearly winced at the sound of it, as did Jim.

She turned her eyes to Spock, quieting her sobs to a whisper as she watched the ill Vulcan struggle to speak across the distance of the room.

Slowly she approached his bed,  and felt a great apprehension to assist someone she had affected so dearly, “Spock?” She replied, which prompted both McCoy and Jim to follow close behind her.

“During my meld with Sovik, I experienced many sensations of his consciousness against my own prior to his passing,” he explained the best he could, though he was panting from the incessant heat that was enveloping him. “I experienced memories of his past, and sensations he had felt in the present and in the past.”

Jim watched as Rebecca swallowed harshly at his words, tears started to fall again.

“As I entered his mind, I saw images of _Kdaovd Kivddaav,_ ” Spock raised a brow. He turned his eyes to her direction; curiously, he must have known she had knowledge of that particular term.

However, Jim and McCoy did not. They shared a strange look before the conversation pressed on, and more blanks were filled in.

Rebecca watched in amazement, and breathed heavily through her nose as tears continued to drip from her cheeks, “The first time Sovik and I met.” She recalled the event aloud, looking over Spock’s face as though she cherished it, as though he had somehow become Sovik in her eyes.

“You attempted to shake his hand, which initiated your first conversation regarding the project of alternatives to dilithium crystals,” Spock continued, and watched as Rebecca enthusiastically nodded her head, a smile slowly appearing as she recalled the memories of Kdaovd Kivddaav.

“Yes, yes I remember,” she laughed through her tears. She remembered just how awkward the interaction had been between Sovik and her on that evening all those years ago.

Spock raised a brow, “He thought quite fondly of you,” he explained, pursing his lips together afterward as he, himself, began remembering the images and impulses he had obtained during the meld.

Her smile quickly diminished, her hands pressed into the blanket on top of Spock’s bed. “I wish he could have felt the same way I felt for him.”

Jim watched Spock’s tilt his head and look over Rebecca’s miserable composure, “Contrary to common belief, Vulcans do indeed have many emotions. However, Vulcans have the ability to control their emotional impulses. We acknowledge our feelings, and channel them into logical, constructive actions.”

“Then why didn’t he make an effort to speak to me, or to meld with me?” She asked bowing her head shamefully.

“Unlike we Vulcans, you humans cannot contain your emotions, and therefore cannot handle such a distressing situation as confronting death,” Spock explained as he watched Rebecca’s miserable expression. “He did not wish to distress you any further with what transpired within his mind during those final moments,”

Rebecca raised her chin, tears steadily dropped from their place as she considered Spock’s words. “Those final moments?” She unnecessarily repeated.

Spock gave her a gentle nod as he relaxed into the bed again, “You, a human, could not withstand the meld which ensued between Sovik’s mind and my own.” He shook his head, speaking again in a rough and tired tone, “You would not wish to.”

Jim peered across the bed at McCoy and bit his lip gently as he thought over the encouragement Spock showed Rebecca. He felt himself grow more and more influenced by Spock’s words. It was simply comforting to know Spock had decided to insinuate ease in Rebecca’s emotional episode, simply because it was the right thing to do. Jim felt inspired by Spock, and wanted more than ever to tell Spock exactly what was burdening his soul.

_‘I’m sorry for standing by and doing nothing—for turning a blind eye. I should have been there for you, I should have seen the obvious signs! I should have healed your hand when I had the chance… I shouldn’t have told you I loved you while you were hurting so badly.’_

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Rebecca sobbed, covering her face again.

Spock tilted his head to the other side, watching only Rebecca for a long moment. He considered speaking, to offer some sort of reassurance that things would be alright, but instead he turned to look away and played with the warm sheets resting over his body.

McCoy gently grasped Spock’s shoulder and gave him a firm squeeze before he turned back to Nurse Chapel’s direction, “Nurse!” He waved over and watched as the woman approached them.

“Yes, Doctor,” She greeted with her hands at her side.

“Why don’t you introduce Doctor Durrell here to our grief counsellor,” He mumbled, trying to conceal their conversation from the rest of the group, but failed against the silence in the room.

“Absolutely,” Nurse Chapel bowed her head and she placed her hand over Rebecca’s back to coax her into moving. “You may follow me, Doctor Durrell,”

Rebecca allowed herself to be taken all but three steps before she froze in mid-step, and turned to acknowledge the sleepy Spock barely watching her from his bed. She quietly nodded her head, opening, then closing her mouth, then opened it again once she found what she was hoping to say.

“Thank you, Commander Spock,” she whispered as her eyes travelled to McCoy and then finally Jim, “Doctor, Captain.”

With a small tug on her arm, Nurse Chapel began escorting her through one of the doors, which lead eventually to the psychological labs in which their counsellors resided.

The noise of the doors closing reverberated throughout the room which signalled Rebecca’s departure. Once Jim assured himself that Sovik and Rebecca had exited, he returned his attention to Spock, giving him a small smirk of appreciation.

“How are you feeling?” Jim asked from the end of his bed.

Spock’s eyes were closed, his breaths heavy and choppy from the heat he was experiencing. He slowly opened his eyes to Jim. “I am… adequate.”

McCoy shook his head. “You didn’t seem very adequate back there,” he quipped as he pulled out his PADD, logging the details of Spock’s condition. “Your temperature nearly went up to one hundred and one.”

Spock lowered his chin until it bumped into his chest. His eyes avoided both Jim’s and the doctor’s. He looked so vulnerable, so ashamed. Jim wished he could muster up the bravery to tell him there was no reason to be ashamed, to cradle him in his arms and tell him that everything would be alright in the end.

He couldn’t.

McCoy started removing the freezer packs from beside Spock and leaned forward to redo the buttons they had torn open during his episode. Spock watched the doctor do so, probably thankful for his consideration.

A light green colour stained Spock’s cheeks as he straightened himself out. He turned to look away from McCoy after he finished his task.

McCoy’s eyes found Jim’s, and they wordlessly expressed their sympathy for Spock until Jim could not stand it any longer. He pulled back and instead gazed down at his regulation boots.

Spock lifted his eyes finally and looked toward Jim busily studying his boots in silence. It was obvious that the room had become much more uncomfortable now that it had been just the three of them inside.

“Sovik must have known,” Spock concluded out loud, his voice successfully cutting through the thick, tense atmosphere.

McCoy lifted his head from the PADD in his hands, Jim’s eyes lifted from his boots, and they both focussed on Spock’s distant eyes peering at the empty bed across from him where Sovik used to be.

“He knew the dangers of the Renneral material. He knew prior to boarding it onto our ship.” Spock finished quickly and tonelessly.

“Is that what you felt from your meld with him?” Jim asked as he held back the urge to tighten his fists anymore than they were already.

It felt like pins and needles against Jim’s skin as Spock soundlessly sighed. It was clear that Spock had come to a similar conclusion Jim had, and that was that Spock had become nothing more than a conduit for Sovik’s sexual aggressions during Pon Farr—something to make the pain go away.

Jim tightly closed his eyes, holding back the need to release tears. He knew he could withhold the physical expression of sadness, but it was much harder to deal with the inner turmoil that came along from knowing his best friend had suffered so much at the hands of that monster.

 _That monster_.

When Jim reopened his eyes to see Spock’s peering right back at him. He quickly withdrew his eyes, and cleared his throat. “I should have…” Jim began in a mumble, then cleared his throat a second time, and paused. “I mean, it was so…”

“Doctor,” A male nurse called out from a side room, one which had not been opened for the entire duration Jim had been in sickbay. He loosened his grip on the edge of the bed, and peered over at the man.

“Yes, Mister Seong, what is it?” McCoy asked as he turned to face him with a stern expression.

“I believe I have positive news concerning Mister Spock’s condition,” He grinned as he lifted a vial up for the group to see.

Inside the vial was an emerald green liquid, transparent enough to see through to the other side where the nurse was looking through.

“Is that Spock’s blood?” Jim asked, his heart raced with excitement as he gazed into the rich coloured liquid.

“Yes, Captain,” Seong explained, setting the vial down onto the side table. “We discovered that the the red blood elements in his system actually inhibit some vital nutrients that activate positively charged components in our mixture, and thus acts as a stronger saturable transport system for the mixture to cross over into the blood brain barrier.”

“You mean, that sample in the vial used to be that coagulated sample you showed me earlier?” Jim tried to figure aloud, a questioning look on his face.

McCoy gave Jim a large smile, the biggest Jim had seen on him in a while, “It means Spock’s going to be okay, Jim.” He then darted his eyes toward Spock who had remained quiet throughout the entire conversation. “You’re going to be alright, Spock!”

Spock nodded his head slowly, his eyelids heavy, “Thank you, Doctor.”

Seong bowed his head in respect, and then coughed lightly into his arm, as though he were about to reveal some damning piece of evidence.

“However, there will of course be side effects,” He gave McCoy a knowing look, “I know you’ve been having trouble with the pain medication, and the inhibitor…”

“Which I believe we can take you off of, Spock,” McCoy added then gave him a hopeful glance.

Seong nodded his head, “That will be good considering this stuff will make you drowsy, nauseous, weak, shaky,” he listed, almost droning as Jim’s mind began to wander into a selfish monologue of how happy he was to have Spock alive.

“Nothing he hasn’t experienced already,” McCoy replied, “We should probably administer a dose as soon as possible. I’ll meet you in the lab in a moment Seong, and we’ll prepare the hypospray together.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Seong agreed, nodding his head to Jim and then to Spock.

McCoy retrieved his PADD and then looked over to the chronometer on the wall. When he peered back over to Spock and the captain, he raised both his brows, a smug look spread across his face.

“Well, what do you know, Spock. It seems that human side of yours really came through for you this time. One of the many benefits to that red stuff your blood tries to hide.” McCoy scoffed before giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Just as he began to walk he motioned for Jim to follow him to the door. Once there, he leaned in toward him, discretely trying to conceal his lips from Spock, “I’m going to be gone for a few minutes, Jim. I’ll call an available nurse to see to him, but would you mind just keeping an eye on him? I can understand if that’s a lot to ask from you at this ti…”

“Yes,” Jim replied instantly, then decided to smooth out his tone soon after, “I’ll stay with Spock,”

“Alright,” McCoy smirked his lips, “I’m going to be back in ten minutes. I just wanted to make sure everything would be alright,”

“It’ll be alright,” Jim reassured with a smile, one that he figured was convincing enough to get McCoy off his back.

McCoy nodded his head, turning to share a quick glance with Spock before he started for the door. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, Spock.”

Jim followed McCoy with his eyes until he could no longer see him. When McCoy was finally gone, he noticed the way he was holding air in his lungs. Slowly he released the breath through his nose, and began to stroll back to Spock’s bedside.

When he caught sight of Spock, he felt his heart pull painfully in his chest. Spock was trying to pull the blanket on from beneath him, tugging on it to bring it over his weak body. Spock had once been so capable, so strong and independent… now, he couldn’t even lift his hips to move the blanket from under him.

“Here, let me help you,” Jim offered, wrapping his arm around Spock’s back to lift him up in order to release the blanket from under him, “There we go,”

In order to give Spock the support he required, Jim had to rest his head against Spock’s shoulder. As he moved him, he couldn’t help but feel himself weaken from the thought of being so close to his Spock.

He smelled like Spock, the warmth was Spock. It felt incredible to be so near to Spock, and to breathe in the same space he did.

It was almost as though it was all those days ago, when he had entered Spock’s quarters after his sickbay appointment… when Jim had suspected Spock had been… had been…

Jim felt his heart constrict again, only this time tighter, in his stomach. As he held Spock, he rested his hand over his friend’s heart, feeling it thud against his palm. It caused Jim’s to flutter and then shatter.

There was so much to love about Spock. One quality Jim had never realized as dearly as he had since the incident, was Spock’s ability to forgive, Spock’s ability to care about others, and place their comfort, their desires, and needs before his own. Jim had seen this, even when those around Spock didn’t deserve his love and forgiveness, Spock had always been compassionate with them.

The blanket was secured over the top of Spock’s body, and yet, Jim remained where he was, practically hugging Spock.

“Captain?” Spock spoke weakly, trying to relax into Jim awkwardly.

Jim’s eyes opened wide, and then slowly lowered Spock onto the bed with grace, “I’m sorry,”

“Do not… apologize,” He sighed, finally squirming into a more comfortable position. “I do believe, I will be able… to resume my position… on the bridge...”

“No,” Jim smiled and took a seat at the foot of Spock’s bed. He peered down at Spock’s feet tenting the blanket upward, and gave Spock a fond smile which slowly faded into a look of concern, “You won’t work until you’re feeling absolutely better. Maybe later I can bring down a chess board and we can play a few rounds…” Jim paused for a moment in wonder. Was that what Spock would want at a time like this, or was that what Jim wanted?  Was he pushing things to be like they once were?

Spock nodded his head, “I believe that would be… acceptable.”

Jim cleared his throat, “Good. Then that’s what we’ll do.” He smiled as he placed his hand at the side of Spock’s foot.

Spock watched Jim sleepily. He barely had his eyes open, and Jim couldn’t help but remind himself of the moment Spock had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He had been so tired, so vulnerable.

Slowly, Jim shook his head, his throat restricting from the pain of holding back tears. He hated the thought of anyone barging into Spock’s room, and stripping away his virtue for such a senseless cause.

“Spock,” Jim began, unsure how to go about telling him how he felt a second time. “I can’t stress to you how sorry I am that this happened.”

There was no reply from Spock, who had turned his head to the side, his eyes appeared miserable and hollow as he watched the far wall. This was not what he wished to speak of at the moment.

Jim panicked for a moment, unsure how to handle a Spock that had been hurt so severely as this one. He fumbled with his words for a moment and searched his mind for the appropriate thing to say.

“They fixed the synthesizer in my quarters Spock,” Jim decided to say, he inched closer to Spock with a warm smile, “That chicken finally tastes like chicken again.”

Spock turned to acknowledge Jim, his eyes still as miserable as when they were watching the wall. His brows pulled inward for a moment.

Jim raised both of his eyebrows, leaning forward, “Spock? What’s wrong? Do you need something?”

He pushed at the blanket, then began breathing heavily, “M.. my temperature…” he panted.

Jim searched the area around them, looking for the freezer packs again, “Do you want those freezer packs, or would you prefer the blanket off?” He asked, leaning in so Spock wouldn’t have to speak to loudly, in fear of causing him discomfort.

“The packs,” Spock decided, looking up to the ceiling and breaking out in a dry, Vulcan sweat. Jim curiously placed the back of his hand against Spock’s forehead, and gauged the temperature before he pulled back from the sudden impact of the heat. His eyes widened.

“Here,” Jim insisted and placed the packs around Spock’s body with care. He hesitated for a moment on whether or not to open Spock’s shirt up, or whether he leave it closed. He looked Spock in the eyes, and gave him a worried look, “Is that better?” He asked, pulling the blanket down slightly.

“Yes,” Spock sighed, still too hot to touch, but cool enough to relax once again.

Jim thought for a moment on what exactly caused Spock to burn up again. He remembered the first time Spock had, Rebecca had startled him, and he assumed caused Spock’s adrenaline to shake up the Renneral in his blood. He wondered what had startled him this time.

 _Don’t talk about Sovik,_ he tried to tell himself. _Don’t remind him of that which he can’t forget._

Jim blushed and remained close to Spock’s side, not wanting to leave for anything in the world.

“Do you feel cooler now?” Jim asked and watched Spock slowly calm into the pillows, his skin still looking rather pale.

Spock nodded his head, “The packs are helping to regulate my temperature. Thank you,”

Jim nodded his head, “Anything, Spock. Do you want water?” He asked, and accidently reached forward and took Spock’s hand in his own. He didn’t even think of it until he felt Spock’s hand tighten against his own.

Spock’s eyes closed and finally settled into the bed, looking absolutely at peace, and for some odd, unexplained reason, Jim felt a rush of calm coming over him as well. His eyes warmed over Spock’s, and he felt a sense of togetherness he hadn’t felt since before the incident.

He rubbed his thumb against the edge of Spock’s hand. The tips of his fingers felt hot against Spock, perspiration gathered at the palm, but it was the tingling feeling that surprised Jim. It was almost as though an electric charge powered between their fingertips, and pretty soon, Jim felt a new pair of fingers against the back of his hand.

As he peered down at their fingers, Jim saw two of Spock’s digits very hesitantly caress Jim’s skin. It felt strange, felt almost as though he were wearing gloves made out of velvet--as though static was building up between their flesh. Jim felt himself breathe heavily through his nose, his chest rising and dropping powerfully.

He lifted his gaze soon after, only to see Spock’s eyes closed. He looked almost as though he were resting. Jim quickly returned his attention to the bizarre feeling against his hand. It felt strangely romantic, strangely exhilarating. His crotch almost twitched with excitement.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim whispered, feeling his own body grow hotter and hotter until, he was physically sweating through his tunic. He watched the two fingers move slowly, and then, drop out of exhaustion.

He released his breath, looking down at Spock’s half-lidded eyes. He gave him a small smile, and then swallowed harshly.

Spock closed his eyes again, and an extremely small smirk appeared and disappeared from his lips in a matter of seconds. Jim was certain there was no one on the entire ship who could have picked out the expression like he could. It took years of mastering and remastering Spock to know what it meant.

Jim smiled fondly, looking down at Spock’s hand, only to see the green slit which had once been a gash on his palm, was beginning to heal quite nicely. He slowly ran two of his own fingers over the injured flesh, then flashed Spock a friendly glance.

At this point Spock had already fallen asleep.

The smile remained for a few more seconds, the sensation of having Spock’s skin against his own far too tantalizing to forget about for the time being. Yet, slowly it faded into a small smirk, then to a grin… which disappeared altogether once he let go of his hand.

The memory of what had happened and what was to become of them tore his heart into halves. He couldn’t imagine a world without Spock. He couldn’t believe there was a time in his life where he didn’t know him, didn’t love him, didn’t cherish him, like he did now. The electrifying touch of their hands was just one of many examples of how he felt for Spock… the burn he felt when thinking about Spock or looking at him.

Suddenly, McCoy entered again, his attention glued to a hypospray in his hand contently. “Alright, Spock…” he began until he made eye contact with Jim.

“Shh,” Jim motioned to him to keep quiet. He straightened himself out, looking down at the freezer packs at Spock’s side. “He got hot, so I…”

McCoy nodded, walking further into the room to Spock’s side. He re-examined the hypo before positioning it at Spock’s neck, then he pushed, allowing the contents to flow into him.

“So, he’s going to be alright?” Jim asked as McCoy placed the hypo into the dispenser.

“He should be fine, Jim.” McCoy reassured, leading Jim out of the room with him, “He’s going to be fine.”

Jim held his tongue until they reached McCoy’s office, not wanting to disturb Spock from his sleep, which he most certainly deserved after the day he had.

The door swished closed behind them, and Jim instantly turned to McCoy, “He’s going to be fine?” He tried in vain to keep from smiling.

“Yes, Jim,” McCoy grinned, “He’s going to make it, Jim, as long as he rests and takes this medicine without any crazy half Vulcan reactions to it.”

“How long do you expect he has to rest for before he can start duty again?” Jim asked and followed the doctor to his desk.

McCoy chuckled softly. His eyes met with Jim, and he shook his head. “It’s going to be at least a few weeks, Jim. I’m going to be restricting him to Sickbay for the next few days. I think it will be nice not to have the RU-598 team around when Spock’s healing.”

“And then?” Jim asked and he loosened the tension in his body slightly.

“And then, I’m putting him on medical rest for a week and we’ll see how he does. Hopefully, we can get a Vulcan healer within the month. That is, of course, if Spock agrees to it,” He explained.

Jim slumped into the chair in which he often occupied when in McCoy’s office. He felt himself growing fearful of the next step… what was yet to come.

“And then what?” Jim sighed, his gaze falling to the desk in front of him.

McCoy walked closer to his friend, “And then you just have to be the friend he needs, Jim.”

Jim uncharacteristically shook a moment, unsure whether or not he _could_ provide that comfort for Spock. It wasn’t at all that he was unwilling to offer if, but he was uncertain how well they would manage after everything they had been through.

 _‘Jim, there is something that has been causing minor distress._ ’

That had been the phrase that had physically torn his heart away from his chest. It had been Spock’s initial response to Jim’s love, and the attempt he had made to kiss him.

‘ _We cannot continue this,’_

Those had been Spock’s wishes. He wished for Jim and himself to cease their relationship since it was _unprofessional_ , and yet Jim knew that it ran much deeper than just their reputation on the ship. Spock had said it himself without any words at all. When Jim had asked if he loved him too, it was the complete silence that had haunted Jim when he slept.

“You’ll be the friend he needs, Jim. I know you will,” McCoy reassured him with a small grin. “I can’t imagine it being any other way.”

Jim nodded his head, his mind still deep in the memory of what had transpired between them days ago.

“Thanks, Bones.” Jim nearly whispered as he stood up from his chair again and headed over to the door just as McCoy began speaking again.

“Jim, one more thing,” he called out, making his way around the desk to catch Jim before he fully exited his office. “I would try not to visit Spock in Sickbay for the next couple of days. Spock really needs his rest, and I know if you’ll be around he’ll…”

“Alright, Bones,” Jim cut him off, not wanting to hear what McCoy was about to say next. He knew deep in his heart that what he was about to say was wrong. McCoy was about to compliment their friendship, about to tell Jim that if he stuck around, surely Spock would be too consumed by Jim’s presence to sleep. However, Jim figured Spock’s wakefulness would be of a completely different matter altogether. Perhaps Jim’s presence would be disturbing for reasons he didn’t want to mull over any longer.

He gave a firm nod in McCoy’s direction, one he gave his crew to initiate a plan. “I’ll be sure to stay out of his hair.”

Before McCoy could say another word, Jim was already stepping out of sickbay, exhaling as though he had been holding his breath.

And perhaps he had been.  

 

-

**One day later**

McCoy stepped into the warmth of Spock’s small room in which they had relocated him. It was large enough that McCoy could walk around, but small enough that he was the only doctor that could comfortably work without bumping into others.

As he entered, he noticed the blanket that had once been on Spock’s bed was now on the floor, messily in a pile in the middle of the small rectangular room. His eyes roamed upward to Spock’s bed. Spock was sleeping on his side, facing way from the door. It caused McCoy to smirk.

He coughed into his fist to gain the Vulcan’s attention, and once Spock’s superior hearing caught the noise, he turned to acknowledge the doctor as though he hadn’t been sleeping at all.

“How are you feeling now?” McCoy asked, playing with the bright yellow chip in his right hand, and taunting Spock almost with curiosity.

“My physical condition is adequate.” Spock replied, relaxing once again, but looking just as feverish as he had that morning. The medication seemed to really put Spock out, and everytime McCoy came to administer another hypo, he felt himself cringing.

McCoy peered over to where Spock’s eyes were fascinated, and he realized it had been the disc in his hand that had caught his attention.

“Well, upon your request, I brought some of our recent medical journals pertaining to the Renneral. Though I really wish you’d take this opportunity to heal and relax now that you’re confined to bed rest,” McCoy grumbled handing him the flat piece of plastic in his hand.

Spock accepted the gift and placed it on the bedside, “Thank you, Doctor.”

McCoy nodded his head, turning on the vitals once again to observe Spock’s condition. At this point, Spock had been well-conditioned to know how to behave in this particular situation. He followed McCoy’s orders, and remained silent as McCoy worked.

“The Renneral is still there, but it looks like the hypos are helping to clear it out of your system. I think a day or two more of this and you can return to your quarters for unsupervised rest,” McCoy smirked his lips, “And aren’t you lucky, by the time you’re ready for that, the rest of the crew will be on shore leave. So, in a way, after all these years I finally managed to get you to rest with everyone else!,” he joked, turning off the monitor, and holding up the hypo to the light.

Spock did not respond. He peered across the room silently as he waited for the hypo to make contact with him like it had many times before.

“I’m sure you’re delighted. With the rest of the crew on shore leave, and the RU-598 crew boarding back to the Starbase, it’s like you won’t be missing any work at all,” McCoy scoffed, holding the hypo up to Spock.

There was again, no response.

McCoy felt slightly nauseous by the horrible way Spock closed himself off away from everything. He felt as though someone were pulling on delicate heart strings--as though they were the cords to the ancient Vulcan lyre. He lowered the hypo for a moment, staring at Spock with interest.

Spock turned his head the best he could to observe what had been holding the doctor back from performing his duties. When McCoy peered back at him with worry in his eyes, Spock decided to speak again.

“Doctor?” The inflection on his voice made McCoy sigh.

“Spock,” McCoy mumbled, applying the hypo gently into his neck, “Since you seem to be clearing up quite nicely, I think it’s about time we start discussing the psychological healing process…”

Spock grunted from the feeling of McCoy’s _potion_ coursing through his system like ice water. Spock shivered for a moment as he always did when interacting with the drug at first. He opened his eyes slowly and peered toward McCoy. “I shall tend to it, Doctor, thank you.”

“No, Spock,” McCoy sighed, biting his lip softly, “This time your Vulcan strength can’t repair these wounds.”

Spock showed no indication of shock from McCoy’s claim, almost as though he had already acknowledged that fate for himself, however did not fully believe it.

“Spock,” McCoy sat at the edge of Spock’s bed, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with him until he was sure he could contain his nerves. Once his eyes met with Spock’s he nearly felt the heaviness of the drug consume Spock. “You’ve been through a great amount of trauma. I’d recommend speaking with a counsellor…”

“There is nothing that a counsellor can offer me. I am better off in solitude to meditate,” Spock explained, sounding quite sure of himself.

It was no shock to McCoy that this conversation had headed into this direction. Spock always had to be difficult. He _always_ had to make things that much more difficult.

“Sovik shattered your shields, do you think you _can_ meditate that problem away?” He asked, unsure how exactly to treat half a Vulcan and half a human for something as traumatic as rape. His human half was likely reacting and requiring one thing, while his Vulcan half only complicated things.

“My shields… are inoperative. However, this is a personal matter in which I would prefer to conquer in my own mind, on my own time.” Spock explained weakly, his eyelids slowly lowering as the drug began to take effect.

“I can refer you to a Vulcan healer, just to see what exactly is going on upstairs.” McCoy suggested, standing up from Spock’s side and giving him a sorry look.

“Upstairs?” Spock questioned the metaphor softly, confused as to what exactly McCoy was referring to.

McCoy rolled his eyes, picking the blanket up from the floor and placing it at the end of Spock’s bed should he need it. He returned his gaze to Spock before chuckling to himself, “Never mind Spock.”

But it had been too late, Spock did not hear McCoy’s reply as he had quickly fallen into a deep slumber.

McCoy gritted his teeth as he gathered his things and exited the room. Of course he thought it would be beneficial to have Spock visit with a Vulcan specialist, one that could enter his mind and look for any permanent damage or areas which required repair. Like physical therapy on the mind, McCoy knew it would be in Spock’s best interest, and if McCoy could, he’d write it on his medical note that Spock _had_ to visit with one for a certain amount of time every week until things seemed to heal over once more.

However, such was the problem with Vulcan ethics. They differed much from Terran practices. A Vulcan healer would require initiating a deep meld, one that would scan through memories, emotions, thoughts, ideas. Consent was necessary in order for the doctor to go anywhere near Spock’s mind...unless the situation was an emergency, in which case ethics could be risked in order to revive life.

McCoy couldn’t order a Vulcan healer, without Spock’s permission, and the idea frustrated him until he reached the main area of sickbay.

And though Spock had made what seemed to be the most illogical decision regarding the Vulcan healer, it was one McCoy expected. As he slumped into his chair, he thought about how difficult encountering Sovik would have been at the time, and how easy it was to avoid reliving that situation just for the sake of _getting over it_. Perhaps Spock could heal with time.

However McCoy knew that all chances of healing were essentially nonexistent as long as he healed alone. He imagined the best thing for Spock would be to heal with Jim, and the best thing for Jim would be to heal with Spock. They were two halves of a whole, in deep agony for one another, and missing each other without whispering a word of it.

They were two minds, screaming for one another--two minds dependent on one another. And right now, they were so far away.

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to send me a private message or would like to chat and hangout, shoot me an email at iamcemxox@gmail.com, OR message me on tumblr [here](i-am-cem.tumblr.com) ! I'm ALWAYS looking for new friends to follow! :)
> 
> <3 thank you all so much for reading, and I hope everyone is having a wonderful week!! <3 :) 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper friends! <3333


	22. Unforgettable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Here's the final chapter of the very long and continuing voyages of Unforgettable! 
> 
> Thank you to Plaidshirtjimkirk for betaing this chapter like THE EXACT MOMENT I FINISHED! :) <3 <3 any other mistakes that there are are my fault lol. But check out all her amazing works as well as her amazing work in progress titled "Paths in the Starlight" [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/works) ! A lot of people from the AOS fandom have said they liked my portrayal of Jim, but let me tell you.... hers is absolutely remarkable. It inspires me all the time :) She's a pro! 
> 
> If anyone has any concerns about this chapter, please let me know either on tumblr [here](i-am-cem.tumblr.com) or email me at iamcemxox@gmail.com
> 
> <3 <3 Please enjoy... <3 <3 and live Long and Prosper <3 <3

**Unforgettable**

 

Jim gazed mesmerically out the window in front of him, deeply enveloped in thoughts that he could not will away. They were thoughts that had him feeling hollow inside, feeling lonely when he walked in a room full of people--thoughts that made him feel powerless even when sitting in the captain’s chair and giving orders.

He knew he shouldn’t have been there, that he should be on the bridge _minding the store_. Instead he was sipping whiskey from a glass, alone in every sense of the word on a lonesome observation deck.

 _Alone_.

The ice clinked against the edges of the glass, but Jim paid it no attention. He simply massaged his eyes with his fingers, reminding himself all over again of the hell that had broken into their lives over the past few days--and not to mention the searing migraine which now throbbed behind his eyes.

He could almost see himself and Spock projected in the room before him, playing a game of chess, Jim laughing and Spock’s head tilted to the side slightly. He could almost hear Spock’s silky tone reverberate throughout the room, and then he could almost hear that silly song play again in his head, the one he had courted Spock with all those days ago.

This whole experience had certainly been unforgettable.

Slowly the scene faded from his mind, and all he saw were the distant stars around him. He reached over to the side table, bringing the amber liquid to his lips again for another long swig. He let it burn all the way down to his stomach, and then sighed, returning it to its place at his side.

The doors behind him swished open, but Jim’s attention remained where it was, looking aimlessly at the ever expanding universe that surrounded them.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, one of familiar pressure and size. Bowing his head slowly he turned to acknowledge Bones. He gave him a slow nod before looking back out the window displaying millions of diamonds glistening against the mysterious backdrop of space.

“ _And now, each night I count the stars. And each night I get the same number. And when they will not come to be counted, I count the holes they leave.”_ Jim lifted his glass again, speaking one last time before taking another sip. “ _Nobody sings anymore,_ Amiri Baraka.”

McCoy joined Jim on the seat, looking at the same place Jim was, and didn’t break the silence that followed Jim’s words. They both watched the nothingness in awe, and McCoy thought for a moment how silly it was that he never came down to the observation deck more often. How silly it was that over four hundred humans resided on this ship, and yet places like the observation deck were often deserted when he visited them.

“Have you talked to Starfleet yet?” McCoy asked, his eyes still fastened to the large display of stars.

Jim nodded his head, “They have to discuss it with the higher council. We should get word of their decision later today.”

McCoy turned to face Jim. “What did you tell them?”.

“I told Reid that Sovik passed, and it was from the Renneral. I also let him know that the RU-598 crew would like to forget about the whole project, that it’s not worth it to the Federation to keep.”

McCoy shook his head, “And they didn’t have an answer for you? They have to call you back?”

Jim simply nodded his head in return.

“Did you tell them about Spock’s condition?” McCoy asked, becoming more harsh in his tone the deeper they got into the conversation.

“I mentioned he was injured and in sickbay, but they cut me off so fast as soon as I told them they couldn’t have the Renneral material.” Jim scoffed sarcastically, taking another long sip. It was then that he noticed he hadn’t even offered a drop to the doctor. “I’m sorry, do you want a drink?”

McCoy sighed, shaking his head. “No, Jim. I didn’t come here to just drink and talk,” he explained, simmering from the last topic of discussion. “I came to let you know Spock is recovering quite nicely. He’s beginning to find enough energy to walk around sickbay. In fact we can’t keep him in his bed anymore.” McCoy laughed to himself, obviously entertained by past memories.

“That’s great,” Jim spoke genuinely, but his tone reflected more exhaustion than he had hoped. McCoy pursed his lips together, wondering what he expected from Jim at a time like this.

“What I mean is,” McCoy continued, “I’m going to let him out of sickbay when everyone is beaming down for shore leave. That way he doesn’t have to be surrounded by so many people.”

Jim tilted his chin up, looking at McCoy with delighted eyes, and a small smirk reflecting just as much. “I bet he wants to come out now.”

“He does,” McCoy grinned back with a soft chuckle.

“And I bet you’re loving the fact that you can say no.” Jim returned the glass to the table soundlessly. He then folded his hands together, two digits straightened out to press against his lips pensively.

McCoy leaned back in his seat as well. “You bet I am.”

The room went quiet again, as McCoy tried to gauge Jim’s dismal expression.

“Jim, you’re not still feeling guilty about what happened to Spock, are you?” He tilted his head to the left, trying to see through Jim’s seemingly unreadable expression.

It was strange how compatible Jim and Spock truly were. McCoy could see it in the way Jim pursed his lips together, bottling up every harsh emotion within himself, refusing to let anything but certainty and confidence radiat through. He was so much like Spock. So private, so inward, so mysterious in many ways. And for that reason McCoy felt his heart fall an immeasurable degree. He couldn’t bear to see Jim suffering in silence as he so often insisted on, and yet nothing but pointed ears could break that tough, captain exterior.

Jim dropped his hand, letting it fall into his lap quietly. “I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted, finally ignoring the view beyond the ship, and instead watched the cold grey floor at his feet.

“ _Bridge to Captain Kirk.”_ The intercom whistled at the side of the room, Jim’s head slowly lifting to acknowledge it. As he stood McCoy followed him up, but remained standing as Jim walked over to the device and activated it.

“Kirk, here.” Jim answered softly.

“ _Emergency subspace message for you in briefing room six_ ,” Uhura informed.

“Is it Admiral Reid?” Jim asked, turning to look at McCoy, his finger still pressed into the button of the machine firmly.

“ _Yes, Sir. He says it’s very important, regarding the RU-598 crew and the Renneral.”_

Jim unnecessarily nodded his head. “Thank you Lieutenant, Kirk out.”

McCoy took a step forward, watching as Jim downed the final mouthful of his beverage and began marching for the door. He followed close behind.

“Jim, you don’t have to feel guilty about what happened to Spock,” McCoy grumbled, grabbing Jim’s arm before he made it out the door. He gave him a firm tug, looking intimidatingly into Jim’s gaze. “What’s there to be guilty about? In hindsight, yes, we all could have done things differently, but that doesn’t mean we should blame ourselves for the decisions that were made.”

Jim peered back at McCoy brows lowered almost defensively. “Bones…” He sighed, trying to pull away, but McCoy brought his other hand and pressed it to Jim’s other shoulder, holding him in place.

“ _You couldn’t have done anything different_!” McCoy stressed, giving him a firm shake on the last word.

“I shouldn’t have told him how I felt…” Jim argued back, “I shouldn’t have ignored the way he closed himself off. I should have questioned Sovik’s intentions, should have monitored their work. I shouldn’t have…”

“And why, Jim?” McCoy asked, squinting his eyes at the man. “There was no reason to question Sovik’s intentions in the beginning, no reason to monitor their work because they were Federation guests!” He loosened his grip, dropping his hands to his sides. “And you told Spock how you felt, because that’s how you felt. There’s no crime against being a little bit human, Jim.”

Jim swallowed hard, watching McCoy a few seconds longer than what was necessary. He then turned to look at the far wall, clearing his throat slightly before speaking again, “I’ve got to take this call.”

McCoy nodded his head, following Jim out into the hall. “I figured that’s what you would say.” His eyes followed Jim as he walked through the corridor, penting up unnecessary feelings of shame and doubt in his mind, and McCoy couldn’t help but reiterate the previous thoughts in his mind.

_Nothing but pointed ears could break that tough, captain exterior._

-

 

The briefing room was quiet enough that Jim almost felt distracted by it. As he waited for Reid to initiate the call from his end, he tried mercilessly to stop his mind from wandering into cold unforgettable places--places he would never fully understand or come to terms with.

The Starfleet insignia finally disappeared from the screen before him, and Jim straightened himself out, throwing on that professional, tough, captain exterior he had worked so hard to develop.

When finally, Reid appeared on the screen, Jim offered him a faint smile and a firm nod, “Admiral Reid,” he greeted, “Have you considered exterminating the Renneral material?”

Reid inhaled slowly, looking even more disappointed than he had the other day when Jim had first called. During that conversation, Reid appeared more angry than upset, or disappointed. However, today’s appearance was nothing but despair.

“I’ve talked to the higher council about this, taking into consideration how much we have spent on this project and obtaining it, we have concluded, Kirk, that the Renneral will not be destroyed, rather preserved and owned by Starfleet. It’s the safest alternative, considering how quickly this material could be weaponized.” Reid explained flatly, as though some big promotion had slipped through his hands because of all this.

Jim blinked slowly, thinking just how high the cost really was on this project.

“You may beam down the RU-598 crew upon arrival to the nearest starbase. We will continue negotiations with Doctor Sovi…” Reid paused for a moment, catching his mistake, “I suppose it will be with Doctor Durrell…”

Jim nodded his head, “She’s well equipped to lead the crew from here on out, Admiral.”

Reid nodded his head disappointedly. “How is the research team holding up against the news of Sovik’s death?” He asked curiously, leaning back in his large office chair.

It was hard for Jim to say. From what he had seen over the past few days, bitterness had been among them, however he had not had the chance to discuss much with them. He was far too busy with tasks that required his full attention…as well his mind was far too busy concerning Spock and his own grief.

“Doctor Durrell naturally took the news quite hard,” Jim replied, lowering his gaze from the computer. “The rest I can assume feel distraught about it too.”

Reid nodded again in understanding. “And when will you be arriving at the starbase?”

“We will reach orbit within three standard Earth hours,” Jim answered looking down at his PADD to double check the information.

The admiral sighed out of bitterness yet again, the reaction now convincing Jim that a big promotion had indeed been dropped considering their inability to bring in this _‘miracle’_ substance. “Your crew is free to utilize the starbase for a brief shore leave if you wish, Kirk, while your ship receives the necessary repairs. We will work on organizing a more official leave for your people since this has indeed been an emotional experience for you all.”

Jim smirked. “I’m sure the crew would enjoy some down time, Sir.”

“Then we will expect your arrival within three hours.” Admiral Reid confirmed and passed his PADD to someone off screen. “Will you be coming down for shore leave?”

Jim shook his head slowly. “I have an injured first officer, and lots of work to get done. I think I’ll sit this one out, Admiral.”

“How _is_ Commander Spock? You said he was infected by the Renneral,” Reid said, with a concerned expression, “Don’t tell me we’re going to lose the best first officer the Federation has ever had too.”

“No,” Jim answered, “My Chief Medical Doctor promises me he’ll pull through.”

“That’s good to hear,” Reid replied, clearing his throat to indicate the subject change. “Well, I hope the RU-598 crew will be pleased by our decision. If they have any concerns we will discuss it when they beam down, but your job has been completed regarding the Renneral project, and so Starfleet would like to thank you.”

 _At what cost?_ Jim wondered to himself, feeling as though their success was simply a symbol of their failure. Every promise that he made to his crew, to Starfleet, to Spock… they had all been broken. They had all been completely broken.

And yet, all Jim could tell Reid was thank you. He couldn’t tell him how badly he had ruined things on their ship, and in his life. He couldn’t tell him how he had destroyed the best first officer in the fleet. All he could say was thanks.

“I will speak to you on shore leave, Captain.” Reid dismissed, bowing his head at Jim, but the computer turned off before Jim could speak again.

“Thank you, Sir,” Jim mumbled out to the blank screen in front of him. He bowed his head in shame for a short time before standing again, and taking his PADD out the door with him.

As he exited the room he saw members of his crew moving through the halls busily trying to avoid bumping into one another, while going to their destinations. Jim walked slowly through the corridor, causing members to pass him.

Silently, he started counting down the three hours he had left until the RU-598 crew was out of his life for good, and then continued on his way.

Even with every busy crew member that passed, Jim couldn’t help but feel lonely, in that corridor full of people.

-

 

The bridge was unnaturally quiet--at least that had been what Jim had thought. He stared at the screen before him, listening to the members of his crew relaying information to one another, and talking casually at their stations. However, each word was audible to Jim, but did not compute like it should have.

Why was he so damn occupied? Why couldn’t he see what McCoy was trying to tell him? Why couldn’t he accept the fact that he hadn’t purposely caused harm to Spock? Would he hold this guilt in his chest forever? Would he never be able to look toward Spock’s science station and forget about all the torture he had caused his dearest and bestest friend?

Jim closed his eyes. He silently thought of Spock, and the way his presence came with a vibe that Jim found absolutely intoxicating. He tried to feel the way he felt when Spock was standing by his side.

For a moment, Jim felt as though Spock _was_ right there to his right, where he had always been. The sensation of fulfillment, contentment, and above all happiness, radiated through him. Suddenly, the memory of Sovik, Renneral, and this whole ugly mess was behind them, not even conceivable. They were ignorant and blissful.

Yet, when Jim opened his eyes again, Spock was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting in his chair facing the viewscreen, absolutely still and absolutely quiet.

The intercom on his chair whistled, and Jim sighed, still distraught over his daydream. “Kirk here.”

“ _This is Scotty in the transporter room. We have everything packed and ready for beam down on your mark.”_  The thick Scottish accent buzzed through the speaker on his chair.

“Thank you, Scotty.” Jim brought his hand up to his eyes to massage them. “I will inform you when we are prepared for beam down.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Jim pulled his finger from the activation button, and stared at the screen above them, looking over the starbase stationed in the middle of nowhere. Jim watched the structure in amazement.

“How long until we are in dock, Mister Chekov?” Jim asked, his eyes never straying from the large starbase.

“About half an hour, Sir,” Chekov answered confidently, his eyes joining Jim’s on the screen.

Jim nodded his head. “Lieutenant, inform starbase we are prepared for dock, and then contact the me in the transporter room when they’re ready to receive the RU-598 team. And Sulu,” Jim called back to him just before walking off the bridge into the lift, “Complete docking procedures.”

“Aye, Sir.” Sulu replied in his low, but sure tone. They both made eye contact for a brief moment before Sulu returned his attention to his work, and Jim silently entered the lift, taking his leave.

He walked briskly to sickbay, when finally he reached his destination and almost ran into McCoy who was promptly already on his way out.

“Damn it, Jim,” McCoy huffed from being startled by Jim’s sudden presence. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Jim smirked, and directed their focus to the end of the hall in which they began walking toward.

The both of them itched in their formal attire, the material chaffing against their back and arms uncomfortably. McCoy grumbled as he tried to scratch himself through the material, becoming outwardly aggravated when it did not make much of a difference.

“I thought you were going to burn this suit?” Jim smiled, giving him a humorous look, reminding himself of the first time they had introduced the RU-598 crew to their ship. Back when Spock, McCoy and himself were walking down these very halls, complaining about this exact same dilemma. However, it was much less satisfying without Spock’s presence.

“I should have,” McCoy answered, scratching more and then deciding the fold his arms over his chest securely, hoping that maybe that would distract himself from the crawling sensations over his upper half.

Jim shook his head, continuing down the hall.

“So,” McCoy started a new topic as they reached the lift, waiting for it to arrive for them. “How are you fairing, Jim?”

Jim raised his brow as though he was unaware what McCoy was referring to. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that, I want to know if anything I’ve said to you in the last couple of days has made any impact on you at all.” McCoy demanded, when suddenly the lift opened up, releasing three crew members into the hall. Jim and himself stepped in.

“It means a lot that you care, Bones, and I’ve thought about everything you’ve said to me, but I can’t help but feel this way.” Jim sighed, eyes down cast onto the floor.

McCoy was quiet for a moment, pursing his lips together as he peered up to the roof of the lift. “I think you need to talk to Spock,” he finally surmised.

Jim nodded his head slowly, eyes still stuck on the spot on the floor. “Yeah.” He sounded so distant, that even Jim surprised himself.

The lift doors finally opened again, and Jim was the first to step out. It would be a short walk to the transporter room from here, and Jim silently made his way, McCoy close behind.

Upon reaching the transporter room, Jim saw the transporter platform covered in large boxes and containers, similar to the ones that the RU-598 had transported onto the ship days ago.

In the center of the room, was Joseph, ordering a group of team members to perform certain tasks. Jim couldn’t help but scan the room for Rebecca, wondering where she had gotten to. It appeared that she was nowhere to be seen. He would have recognized her instantly by the volume of her hair, but among the busy people moving about in the small room, he could not pick her out to save his life.

Suddenly, Jim heard Scotty call over to him. “Captain, Lieutenant Uhura informed us that the Starbase is ready to receive them,” he explained from behind the controls. “Shall we go ahead and beam them down?”

Jim bowed his head, giving Scotty all the permission he needed to clear the space on their transporter pad. Jim could hear the controls slide slowly down and then moving up, preparing the material on the transporter to slowly disappear in a haze. Then the area was clear for the next group of materials.

Joseph slowly weaved his way through the crowd of people, making his way over to Jim. When he casually made it all the way to Jim’s side, he greeted the captain with a small smirk of his lips, and then stuffed his hands into his own pockets.

Before Joseph could say anything, Jim began talking, “Where’s Doctor Durrell?” He asked still searching the room for her.

Joseph shook his head almost regretfully. It was clear by the way his face lost all its luster that he faintly missed that particular woman’s face. And how could he not. Forgetting Rebecca would be like forgetting Spock. Leaving your other half behind.

“She had something she had to pick up.” He shrugged his shoulders which answered Jim’s next question of what that something could be.

Joseph cleared his throat, pressing his glasses further up his nose again, before crossing his arms over his chest awkwardly. “Thanks for everything, Captain.” He looked up to meet Jim’s eyes. “I’m really sorry about all the trouble we’ve caused since we boarded.”

It was then that Jim realized how long it had been since he had heard those words from any member of the group. He flipped through his mind, and finally concluded, that in fact, there hadn’t even been a moment where he had heard them spoken with true genuinity from the RU-598 team. He realized how hollow those words were now that everything was said and done, but yet, how needed they were at the same time.

“It was no trouble…” Jim began, wondering to himself how he ever became such a good liar even when he didn’t necessarily want to be. They had indeed destroyed life on this ship, and this would be the perfect opportunity to make those feelings clear.

And yet… Jim couldn’t. Jim was still as professional as he always managed to be.

“Come on, the incident with Sovik, with Simon, with Rebecca…” Simon listed off humorously, “Hell, even I tried to take a few souvenirs from the quarters you provided me with,” he joked, smacking his hand against Jim’s shoulder.

Jim shot a playful glance at Joseph, and shook his head, “Well, then I have no choice but to accept your apology. Thank you,” Jim managed to reply, still deeply saddened by the subject matter of their discussion.

The doors to the room swooshed open and Rebecca stood in the doorway, her hands firmly placed behind her back, appearing almost like a reincarnation of her Vulcan mentor.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Rebecca informed the group. Her reddened eyes looked to Joseph, faltering to the floor again; clearly she was overwhelmed by the fear and apprehension of seeing her ex--an ex she had explained multiple times as the most important person in her life.

“I had to speak to a nurse in your sickbay.” She crossed her arms over her body, almost hugging herself. “Christine, I think she said her name was.”

Jim watched the insecurity in Rebecca’s body language, then his eyes gradually wandered upward, making contact with Rebecca’s, and he forced a smile onto his lips. “She’s one of the best,” he agreed.

“So what comes next for the Enterprise?” Joseph asked, unfolding his arms, and awkwardly placing them at his sides. Suddenly, the atmosphere became much more constrained with Rebecca’s presence. Jim knew all too well how that felt. After Carol had ripped out his heart, he was never the same around her…he was never the Jim he was before.

“The next adventure,” Jim answered simply. He gave Joseph a genuine smile, feeling hope in the statement he had just made. There was nothing that healed the soul more than sailing through space on the most lovely ship in the fleet. _Nothing_ , he convinced himself.

Joseph bowed his head, looking up at Jim admirably. “I can’t wait to hear about all the new discoveries, Captain.” He threw his hand out to Jim’s, “Good luck in your travels.”

Jim firmly grasped Joseph’s hand, and nodded in agreement. “Good luck in your own adventures.”

As the handshake broke, Joseph turned to give a brief glance at Rebecca, but she was unmoving, remaining in front of Jim, clearly waiting for a moment of privacy with the captain. Soon enough, Joseph took his leave, and Rebecca and Jim stood alone at the side of the room while the crew worked on beaming half of the group down to the starbase.

Jim sighed as he watched Rebecca’s hands go rigid, and he felt the urge to leave the room. He didn’t want to have this discussion with Rebecca again. He didn’t want to think about Sovik, and he didn’t want to be made to listen to her story once more.

“Captain,” she began, her gaze meeting Jim’s. “I did a lot of thinking over the past few hours, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you may be right.” She darted her eyes away. “I can’t help but feel responsible for what happened on your ship.”

Jim shook his head, a small, sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips. “Rebecca, we both know I’m not the one you need to say this all to,” Jim muttered, trying to keep his voice down from everyone around them.

“Rebecca!” Joseph called out from beside the transporter pad. “We’re ready to beam down the rest of the crew.”

“In a minute,” Rebecca called back, looking at Joseph for a short time, then returning her attention to Jim. “I know, Captain. I went to speak with Spock earlier but…I couldn’t. Seeing him is just too hard for me at the moment.”

Jim had to physically bite his lip to stop himself from snapping at the woman. He wanted to hold her by the shoulders and shake her--tell her how nice it was that she was able to be ignorant to the things she wanted to forget, and how Spock would never be able to forget the things he had experienced, some of which were entirely Rebecca’s fault.

“Rebecca,” Jim interrupted, “I think you should leave our ship.”

Rebecca shook her head desperately, “No, Captain, listen.” She insisted, dropping her hands finally. “I just wanted to ask one last favour from you.”

Jim almost rolled his eyes.

“In the lab there’s a gift for Spock. Please, make sure he gets it.” She bowed her head, both her eyes closed despairingly. Her glossy eyes lifted from the floor, and she swallowed back the tension in her throat. “Can you do that for me?”

The need to throw Rebecca off his ship was dissipating slowly, until he gave her a small nod. “I can do that,” he answered, and watched as Rebecca smiled thankfully before turning back to the transporter pad, stepping onto her assigned location.

Right before Scotty started his countdown, Jim approached the transporter pad to catch a better look at the group he would never see again in person, and yet would remember always like a detrimental scar.

Rebecca’s eyes met Jim’s, and just before the beams caught her in a glittery haze, she pulled her hand up in a Vulcan salute mouthing the words Jim knew all too well.

Jim mirrored the action, and whispered unnecessarily, “Live Long…”

_And Prosper._

The room was empty in seconds. A strange weight finally lifted from Jim’s shoulders, and he felt almost excited about their departure. He didn’t have to worry about where and what the RU-598 crew was doing. It was the comfort of his ship once again, and Jim outwardly smirked, looking over his shoulder for a moment to see McCoy smiling back at him.

 _Finally_.

“They received them all in perfect condition, Captain,” Scotty informed over by the controls. He joined the group in the round of cheerful expressions. “They’re finally gone.”

“Good,” Jim agreed, “Have a security team transport with Simon Masters down to the starbase to assure that they receive him in custody.” Jim walked to stand on the other side of the control panel, arms resting on the top of it casually.

McCoy followed him over, listening to Scotty carry out the orders Jim had just given.

“Have you reconsidered joining us down on shore leave?” McCoy asked in all seriousness, propping one of his brows up. He copied Jim’s posture against the control panel.

Jim looked off behind Scotty to the back wall. “I’ve got things I need to work on, Bones.”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

“You aren’t going down for shore leave after all that, Sir?” Scotty repeated in disbelief. “Permission to speak freely, but I think you better reconsider that.”

“Do you think I haven’t told him that?” McCoy griped, looking back at Jim. “I have half a mind to order it…”

“Gentlemen,” Jim interrupted, grinning playfully at them both. “I’m fine.” He turned to see the doors open with security men dragging Simon onto the transporter pad. Jim couldn’t even look the man in the eyes after his dishonesty. “I’ll let you handle this,” Jim told Scotty before beginning to walk out of the room. “Lieutenant Uhura will inform you when you’re allowed to start beaming crew members down for the brief leave.”

Scotty nodded his head, “Aye, Sir.”

As Jim raced out the door, McCoy called out after him. “Where are you going?” he asked, still leaning against the panel.

“A shower,” Jim replied, and there was nothing Jim wanted more in the world at that moment then that alone.

-

 

The shower doors opened, releasing hot moisture into the cold room. As Jim stepped out onto the cold tile floor, he breathed the steam in deeply. He truly adored the finer things about a real water shower, the thick mist being one of them.

He pulled the towel around his body, wiping it dry of all the droplets of water that were dripping down his body slowly. He sighed when he was considerably dry, and he tied the towel around his waist finally, returning to his quarters.

He instantly walked to the dresser to pick out a fresh uniform when suddenly he received a call on the intercom on the screen on his desk. He pressed his thumb into the activation button slowly. “Kirk here.”

“The crew is beaming down for their shore leave now, Sir. About sixty percent is now on the starbase so that the repairs can begin.” Uhura explained on the small screen.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” Jim released the button and looked into the empty room around him, feeling absolutely lucky for having such a great amount of the ship to himself.

After finally dressing himself, he stepped back into the hall of the Enterprise, slowly wandering down it and recalling the events of the journey they had just endured.

His eyes fell to the ground where he remembered losing consciousness. It was the spot where he had been attacked by Sovik, and when everything had changed.

His mind wandered to a darker place as he passed the location on the floor which had symbolized the beginnings of this tense journey. He began to consider when this had actually begun, and when had they actually finished? Had Sovik made advances on Spock earlier than the point in time when he himself had been attacked? Did the incident only happen once, or twice… or more?

The lift doors opened and Jim entered with a sigh, holding the handlebar firmly in his hand, and then releasing for a moment only to reorganize his head and focus on the present: where he was going now and why.

“Deck three.” Jim leaned back into the wall, repeating to himself internally to keep his mind focussed on returning to the labs to pick up the _gift_ Rebecca had left behind for Spock. He did not know yet whether or not it would be something worth presenting to Spock, not until he scoped it out to reassure himself that it was safe.

The lift stopped, and the doors slid open. One lonely ensign stood down the hall, arms reaching into a power unit in the wall, likely repairing it from some sort of damage obtained from their journey.

Jim walked silently past him. It was unlikely that the man even heard or saw him at all...and frankly that was alright with him. Most of the time, Jim was a social butterfly among his crew..not overly introverted, but enough that Jim enjoyed knowing those who served under him on some sort of deeper level. It helped him realize the true worth of his ship. It helped him put a face to the four hundred plus crew members that boarded this ship.

Now? Jim just wanted to fade into the background.

The lab was dark upon entering, and Jim felt his heart restrict tightly. He remembered this room before the incident, before ever knowing Sovik and the RU-598 group. It had been the room where he often came to visit Spock, learning about the various projects he had going on. It was a strange feeling now, almost like he feared the dark, enclosed space around him.

“Computer, lights at sixty percent,” Jim commanded, watching the lights raise to a dim but practical sixty.

There was no mistaking the gift Rebecca had left behind, as Jim peered across the room to one of the tables where the Renneral had been stored. A very faint smile peered over his lips as he approached it.

Small containers were placed on the table top, filled to the brim with a strange powdery soil substance. Inside, Jim could see a metallic worm like creature, waving slowly. His hand lightly touched the top of it and he felt a rumbling beneath his finger.

“ _Armoured beauty.”_ Jim smiled, thinking about how difficult the Vulcan pronunciation would be at a time like this.

He picked up the small plant and felt the trill increase when he brought it closer to his face. Jim could pick out the finer details of the foweinvaksur, and he could now see tiny leaf like structures sprouting around it.

He smiled at it once more, petting the top gently as he brought it out of the room. This would indeed be something he would like to share with Spock--definitely something he would obtain great pleasure from.

Jim returned to the hall, and the noticed the ensign was no longer stationed by the power unit on the wall. Again, Jim was grateful as he carried the small creature in his hands. He entered the lift, eyes returning to the tiny plant.

For a long moment, Jim forgot all about commanding the lift to a location, and so when it dinged as a reminder to set in a destination, he nearly jumped.

“Deck seven,” Jim commanded and waited for the short ride down to deck seven.

As the doors opened, he caught sight of Christine standing in the hall, reading a report on her medical PADD and slowly stepping in the direction of sickbay.

“Nurse Chapel!” Jim called out, lightly jogging to her side.

She jumped from the shock of hearing Jim’s voice in the silent hall. She turned suddenly to see him, and placed her hand over her heaving chest. “Captain, you startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim genuinely replied, looking at her regretfully. “Aren’t you going down for some shore leave?” he asked, walking slowly by her side now that he had caught up to her.

She nodded her head, “I’m going to be meeting Lieutenant Uhura down there within the hour. I just had some final reports to finalize for the... _incident_.”

Jim awkwardly nodded his head, wanting to forget but finding it hard.

“I see.” Jim gazed to their moving feet. “Is Commander Spock in sickbay?” he asked, turning his chin up so that he could look Christine in the eyes.

She gave him a knowing grin, and slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain. He left sickbay hours ago. He could be anywhere in the ship at this point. Maybe even on the planet below.”

Jim wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Of course. Spock wouldn’t spend a moment in sickbay if he didn’t have to, and McCoy had said that Spock was showing incredible signs of improvement.

Just as Jim turned to walk away, Christine peered down at the small plant in Jim’s hand, and returned her eyes to his again and almost chuckled to herself. She wondered silently how long the two were planning on hiding in plain sight.

“Good luck, Captain,” she finally spoke just as Jim was entering the lift, and when Jim turned to acknowledge her again, she had disappeared into sickbay.

Jim tightened his grip on the plant, and sighed, watching the foweinvaksur twirl in the air playfully. He stroked the top, thankful for its silent but reassuring comfort.

It was hopeless. He’d never find Spock on the ship unless he called him on the ship wide comm, and besides... was Jim really the best thing for him at a time such as this?

That was one of the things that hurt the most, knowing things could never be like they were before. Chess matches would be a thing of the past, a distant memory of who they used to be, and who they thought they would become.

Jim bit his cheek in disappointment, trying not to dwell on things that would certainly bring him down. He tried desperately to distance himself from the thought of Spock being assaulted, being brutally handled, and trying to forget the sturdy Vulcan he had once been.

It was not that Spock had changed to Jim…in fact, Spock was still as attractive as he had ever been. What had changed was the aspect of them. What had changed was who they were as a team, as a couple of friends... as lovers, because he’d be damned to say that nothing existed before Sovik had come along. He’d be down right clueless to say Spock felt nothing for him and he for Spock.

No. There had always been a spark.

Jim could still feel his for Spock, burning and spreading through him like wildfire. He still felt attracted to Spock, still felt attached to him. Nothing could stop Jim from loving Spock; it would be something he was bound to take to the grave with him. Just like he still cared for Carol, Jim still cared for Spock, even more so in so many ways.

...In so _many_ ways, and Spock would never know the true extent of his love. They hadn’t even touched as lovers and Jim felt stronger for him than he had ever felt for another.

Jim left for deck seventeen, hoping that whatever crew members remained were not utilizing the observation deck at this time. Jim desperately needed this time for himself, to straighten out these feelings of guilt and shame--to try organizing  the chaos that was his and Spock’s life from this point on, and figure out how to move forward.

He needed to do this in private. Never had Jim been one to throw his problems in others’ faces. He needed to solve these problems like the issues in the universe they came across in their travels. There had never been a no win scenario in Jim Kirk’s life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

The lift doors opened gently and silently, releasing Jim onto deck seventeen, when all of a sudden, Jim heard a noise traveling through the halls--no… not a noise… a song. A beautiful song.

Jim entered into the hall once more, catching the tune better in his ear. The song was haunting, yet familiar to Jim. One he wanted to place so badly if it weren’t for the instrument it was being strummed on.

The end notes reverberated more than Jim had expected, and the transition between them were like a long stride on the violin. He heard it echo, sounding somewhat otherworldly the more he listened.

Suddenly, Jim placed the song, hearing the words caress his mind like a mother’s gentle touch. He moved toward the observation deck where the music seemed to be emanating from, and where the feeling became stronger and stronger in his head.

Feelings of worry and guilt eased into the back of his mind, comfort radiating through him, and a promise of better things to come flooded him. The ibuprofen McCoy often prescribed for his migraines didn’t even come close to the gentle, massaging cure this feeling brought on.

When Jim finally arrived at the door of the observation deck he felt the plant in his hand trill happily, and Jim’s heart sank.

Spock sat in the dimly lit room, strumming the cords on his lyre with ease, looking out onto the large window displaying the space around them. The light from the stars was enough to highlight the details of Spock’s face, making him almost glow in his dark robe.

Jim bowed his head, listening to the song peacefully. His eyes wanting to ease shut, but he was far too entranced by the sight of Spock sitting there like a God.

The song slowed, and Jim recited the words in his head with a small smirk on his lips.

_“Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me, never before, has someone been more..”_

_“Unforgettable.”_

The music tapered off, just as Jim had been enjoying the melody, just as the words began to rejoice in his mind. Slowly he straightened himself out, realizing he had been leaning so far into the doorframe, he was beginning to slip.

Spock’s fingers stopped their dancing, and they froze over the strings. He paused like that for a moment until finally Jim got the feeling he should leave. This was probably not a good time; he should have never came in here in the first place.

Just as he turned to make his exit, Spock began to speak, halting Jim in mid-step.

“Do not leave.” His tone was rough, but low. Usually it sounded like velvet to Jim, smoothe and deep, always in perfect enunciation...however at this time he sounded like he was just coming over a bad cold.

And why wouldn’t he? He had just endured a traumatic experience, almost lost his life in multiple attempts, and if Jim could make an assumption, he was sure that Spock hadn’t said much since he was released from sickbay.

Jim smiled softly at Spock, knowing he should probably leave, but wanting to stay. He took a hesitant step in, swallowing nervously before speaking. “You play it beautifully.” He stood adjacent to the chair Spock was sitting in, gazing down at Spock’s avoidant eyes, and wondering what he was thinking about at that exact moment.

Spock hummed in appreciation, lightly strumming the cords, and then stopping.

“I thought you didn’t know that song.” Jim laughed, trying to lighten the mood ever so slightly. “Or was that all a clever plan to get me to stop singing?”

Spock looked over at Jim finally, their eyes connecting for a long moment, the lines on Spock’s face barely visible.

A very faint smirk came over Spock’s lips, and he started playing the song again from the beginning, allowing Jim to make whatever assumptions he would from that reply.

Jim shook his head humorously and then looked down at the small plant in his hands, reminding himself that it had been a gift to Spock after all.

“Doctor Durrell left this for you.” Jim walked over to Spock but was halted by Spock’s hand coming up to stop him. Instead, Spock weakly got to his feet, placing the Lyre on the table next to him.

Spock brought his shaky hands up to accept the gift, and as Spock took it, their fingers brushed. Jim felt the rush of comfort all over again.

“Do you remember... the armoured beauty?” Jim reminded, wondering if Spock had forgotten at all, and then quickly remembering that Vulcan’s never forgot.

“I have not forgotten,” Spock answered as though he could read Jim’s thoughts. He watched as Spock gazed into the small container with the plant moving freely. “It is only a seedling.”

Jim nodded his head enthusiastically. “They must have been able to salvage some of the last one,” he explained, wanting to touch Spock’s hand again.

Spock raised his eyebrow, looking over the small plant curiously. “Quite an interesting specimen,” He noted before handing it back to Jim.

“It’s not mine, Spock, it’s yours,” Jim insisted trying to hand it back to him, but Spock shook his head, moving over to the windows where he could casually lean into the ledge.

Jim decided to drop the subject, placing the plant between them. His eyes caught sight of Spock’s hands holding firmly onto the very ledge he had just set the plant on. He saw the desperation in Spock’s grip, and Jim wondered how Spock managed to hide the emotions he no doubt was feeling, with such ease?

“How are you feeling?” Jim decided to ask, speaking in a much more soft voice than he had been before.

Spock took a silent breath in, closing his eyes slowly and then lowered his chin, thinking deeply for a moment. There was silence for a long moment before Spock raised his head again and started speaking.

“Fascinated,” he replied, looking over to Jim quickly, his eyes darting away shortly after. “The nurses gave me the opportunity to review some of the reports obtained from my blood samples as well as the Renneral…” Spock began before Jim cut him off.

“Do you feel okay though?” Jim asked, his brows pulling inward with concern. “I mean, I know about the contents of the Renneral and the effects it had...but I want to know how _you_ are doing.”

Spock turned away from the window, peering back across the room at an empty table in the far corner where an artificial plant sat. He appeared to be so distant from the room they were in now, almost as if he couldn’t even hear or see Jim anymore.

Several minutes of silence passed and Jim felt concern well up inside him again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pressure you into talking at all.” Jim apologized, clearing his throat soon after. “I should probably…”

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock whispered, eyes still intrigued by the plant across the room.

Jim swallowed hard, looking back at Spock nervously, “Yes?”

“I must apologize…” Spock sighed, turning to look at Jim once again. “My shields are very weak, and meditation is seeming to have little effect at the moment. If I appear more irrational, then I must apologize in advance.” He looked shamefully to his feet.

Jim shook his head, “No, no, there’s no reason to apologize, Spock,” Jim insisted, supporting Spock with a quick grab of his shoulder. “You can act however you want. I’m not judging you.”

Spock slowly nodded his head, weakly trying to keep his body rigid and straight as it always was, but his body loosened, draping ever so slightly the longer he stood.

“Do you want to sit?” Jim offered, directing him to a chair, but Spock shook his head into the other direction, straightening himself even more to appear as though there hadn’t been any distress at all.

When the room became quiet again, Jim felt a pressure in his chest, one that urged him to speak from the heart. It was the pressing need to spill the truth like it needed to be said.

“Spock,” he sighed nervously, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry.” He finally admitted, feeling the strange presence in his chest move into an uncomfortable area in his gut. It churned and burned painfully, making him wince slightly at the feeling.

Spock raised his brow at Jim, looking almost perplexed by Jim’s statement. “I do not understand…”

“No, Spock, you don’t get it, I feel incredible guilt..” Jim awkwardly crossed his arms, then dropped them a moment later in order to hold the edge of the wall behind him. But no matter where he placed them, he felts strangely exposed and out of place.

“And I am uncertain of the cause,” Spock furthered, moving closer to Jim, tilting his head slightly to the right.

“For everything that happened to you, and to the ship. I feel strangely responsible for it.”

Spock considered Jim’s claim for a moment, but only shook his head. “I find that highly illogical.”

A smirk crept onto Jim’s lips, then quickly faded, his eyes watching Spock adoringly. “I should have been more aware of what was going on. I should have read the signs, Spock, or been more strict…”

“I recall a conversation with you over chess in the recreational room,” Spock began to explain, “In which you were concerned with Sovik’s character.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Jim sighed, looking away from Spock’s eyes with guilt. “I had a gut feeling, and I essentially ignored it.”

Spock watched the defeated expression on his captain, and they stood in silence for a long moment.

“Do you know what my strategy _is_ when we play chess and I come out the winner?” Jim asked, the shame pressing down on Jim the longer he looked at Spock. “I go with gut feelings, and take risks on them.”

The room remained silent, and Spock could hear a heavy sigh escape his captain bitterly. Spock bowed his head deeply in thought.

“I believe there is an Earth custom I must partake in, and that is to thank you,” Spock suddenly spoke, turning to look Jim in the eyes thoughtfully.

“You don’t have to, Spock,” Jim mumbled, feeling his heart dangling before them once again. He couldn’t accept such a gesture from Spock, not after what he had just told him. He had been a playing role in Spock’s demise. He didn’t deserve such sentiments as that.

“If you had not been so attentive to me and my wellbeing, I most likely would have died in my quarters that evening,” Spock explained, peering over to Jim. “For that having been prevented I am grateful.”

Jim shook his head again. “You don’t have to thank me for caring Spock. I did what anybody who cares would have done.”

Spock nodded his head. “Then you shall not apologize for things you had no control over.” Spock lowered both his brows. “It is not logical to strain yourself on things that have already been, and things that were meant to be. The universe shall always unfold as necessary.”

Jim took a stepped forward, tension building in his shoulders and back. Spock could tell by the stiff way he walked. “I know, but, _Spock_ … there was so much I could have done, and so much I shouldn’t have done...or said.” He turned back to face Spock, looking to see if he was somewhat catching his drift.

Spock watched Jim silently, leaning back into the wall more. “If that is the way you feel, Jim… then I shall simply respond with, _you are forgiven_.”

Jim’s shoulders dropped, the stiff fists he had formed at either of his sides began to loosen, and Jim could see a bit clearer as he watched Spock peering back at him with concerned eyes. Those were the eyes that haunted him in his dreams--the ones he longed for and wanted to wake up to every morning, and fall asleep to every night.

Their eyes separated for a moment as Spock moved off the wall and finally took the seat Jim had offered him earlier. He sat down comfortably, and fixed his robe over his body, making sure that everything was sufficiently covered and comfortable. He then looked up at Jim, raising a brow slightly and then dropping it.

A smile was forced onto Jim’s lips, and he quickly began hiding it, not wanting to make it appear as though he were enjoying Spock’s discomfort. In fact, he felt the exact opposite--wanting to reach out and hold Spock and keep him safe--

“Spock,” Jim sighed, taking another hesitant step forward to him. “What I said before in my quarters to you…”

“Do not apologize for that.” Spock whispered, cutting Jim off as soon as he felt Jim going into that direction. “Do not… apologize.”

Jim pursed his lips together. He wanted so badly to scream at Spock, to tell him that what he was feeling was something he had to apologize for simply because he had sworn to himself to protect him at all costs. And yet some of the most unthinkable things had happened to him--things Jim could have stopped had he gone with that instinct.

“Spock, I shouldn’t have said it when you were in that condition. I made things so much more difficult for you,” Jim sighed, “It was selfish. I was only thinking about what I wanted for us, and what I thought was best for us. I never stopped to think maybe what I thought was best for us, wasn’t what was best for you.”

Spock was silent, likely unsure how to react or what to say to Jim’s emotional statement. His eyes grazed the lyre and then slowly looked up at Jim. “You do not have to think this way,” Spock informed in a whispered tone, his eyes faltering to the floor. “You do not need to apologize.”

Spock took hold of the lyre again, tracing the pads of his fingers over the strings, and then softly plucking. His eyes trailed up to Jim’s and he watched him intently. Jim felt his heart flutter.

“I have been thinking of Sovik for the past hour and fifty six minutes,” Spock started again, his playing effortless even when looking at Jim.

“What about?” Jim asked, taking a seat next to him on the bench. The rhythm of Spock’s playing was soothing to Jim, almost like a lullaby, and he wished for a moment that he and Spock could both lean their heads back and take a long rest...one they both surely deserved and were lacking.

“I felt for him,” Spock admitted, watching his fingers now as they strummed the lower notes hauntingly.

Jim’s heart fell to his stomach, unsure of what exactly Spock was saying. “You _felt_ for him?”

Spock looked over at Jim, both brows raised. “Quite.” He slowed his playing almost to a halt, strumming a note every few seconds. “He reminds me of one of your old friends.”

 _Gary_. Jim immediately figured, and slowly Jim turned to acknowledge the stars outside, reminding himself of the pain he had endured when physically putting an end to a life he had adored for so many years, ending the life of one of his most cherished friends.

“Sovik did not ask for the condition he was put in.” Spock watched Jim as he stared into the oblivion around them. “He never asked for this demise, for the insanity that Pon Farr ignites. No Vulcan would.” He spoke with confidence, and yet with absolute disappointment.

Jim nodded his head. “But that’s not enough to forgive him for what he did.” He sighed, clenching his fists at the memory of Rebecca’s confession, and the moment he first learned of Sovik’s torturous side.

“No,” Spock agreed, shaking his head as he continued playing at the regular pace. “No, it is not.” He finished, his shoulders rising and falling gracefully in a sigh.

Jim wondered for a moment if he would ever know what transpired that night Spock had been raped. Not for sick fascination, as Jim was sure he couldn’t stomach the details, but he wished to know what words transpired. He wanted to know how Spock recovered, and the thoughts and feelings Spock had felt afterward, only so Jim could offer that much more support for his friend. Whatever Sovik had told Spock was likely a lie, and if Sovik’s words were still a haunting presence in Spock’s conscience, then Jim wanted to carry the burden for Spock. If he could, he’d take Spock’s place in a second, just to see that Vulcan half smile again.

But Jim could not ask these things of Spock. Those details would come with time.

Spock appreciated this silently as he began playing their song. It sounded strange to Jim on the Vulcan lyre, but at the same time, Jim had never heard it played so well in his life.

Jim turned to Spock, wanting to touch those Vulcan features, wanting to hold those Vulcan hands in his own, or to kiss those Vulcan lips. He had been so close so many times, that perhaps the universe truly didn’t want him to. Perhaps Jim was meant to remain as a soft place for Spock to land. And Jim was alright with that, but his heart ached for the loss of yet another soulmate.

“Spock?” Jim sighed, looking into those dark brown eyes he adored. He felt Spock ease closer to him, an eyebrow raised to encourage Jim in continuing.

But the pressure was too much to stand, and Jim felt himself purse his lips together. “Never mind.” He smirked, watching those magnificent brows lower once again. Spock did not press for Jim to continue. He couldn’t.

“Would you care to finish your ballad Jim?” Spock asked, continuing the strumming.

Jim didn’t feel much like singing when he first entered the room, and yet now he felt his heart screaming with song. He wanted to sing to Spock, not to hear his own voice, or to repeat the song and the necessary notes. Instead, he wished to channel what he was feeling for Spock into something coherent, organized that Spock could maybe understand.

Besides, if it made Spock happy, it made Jim _very_ happy.

 _“Unforgettable,”_ Jim hummed quietly, not serenading Spock with the power or effort he had done days ago. Instead, he almost spoke the words, intimacy drawing them closer together, yet not pressuring the other to do the same or to grow _too_ close.

“ _In every way. Unforgettable, that’s how you’ll stay.”_ Jim paused to listen to Spock build the necessary notes to lead into the next chorus. “ _That’s why darling, it’s incredible…”_

Jim paused for a moment, the lyrics lost to him as Spock’s strumming faded, and their faces drew closer together. Jim could feel his pulse racing in his throat, his stomach mixing nervously as he felt Spock’s breath against his skin.

A hand came to rest on Jim’s hand, which was flat against the bench between them. And for a moment, Jim didn’t care who came in, who saw, or who knew about his feelings for Spock. All that mattered was that hope was perhaps not lost between them, that maybe there was still a chance worth fighting for.

Slowly, Spock opened his eyes, looking into Jim’s. Their thumbs brushed over each other, and as if magnets laid beneath their fingers, they began to lock them together shyly. Their hearts pounding in sync with one another.

Jim felt fire ignite within him as soon as their fingers locked, making the stars outside their window look foolish in comparison. He could almost feel Spock’s hands inside his mind, caressing and kissing it gently. And Jim whimpered within a sigh.

Their fingers became tighter and tighter, until Spock eased his own, allowing Jim to do the same moments later.

Spock let the lyre rest on his lap, freeing his other hand to reach up between their faces, and softly, as though his fingers were feathers against his skin, Spock began to trace two digits over Jim’s lips.

Jim did not fully understand the purpose, but slowly his heart began to beat excitedly in his chest as he considered the idea of Spock’s sensitive hands touching him so intimately. This must have been what Vulcans had considered intimacy, what they had done with each other when they were truly infatuated with the other.

Jim raised his own hand hesitantly, wanting to know what it felt like, wanting to know what Spock would do if his hands mirrored the careful caress. He brought to fingers before Spock’s face, and then hesitated, pulling back a moment before building up the courage the pet Spock’s cheek with the back of his digits.

Spock closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. His fingers never stopped their exploration of Jim’s lips, but after a moment his eyes reopened and he was once again staring into Jim’s eyes.

Slowly, Jim lowered his fingers, and he watched Spock curiously. The fingers over his lips slowed, and then eased down, snatching the lyre once again, but his other hand still tenderly locked with Jim’s and his body still close and nervous.

Suddenly, the sight of Spock’s eyes shutting and his lips extending ever so slightly caused Jim’s to follow, and within seconds their mouths touched.

It felts like nothing Jim had experienced before. It lasted perhaps, ten to fifteen seconds, not one of the most agressive kisses he’d ever had, but absolutely the most heartfelt. The kiss meant so much more than an exchange of saliva, in fact, Jim and Spock’s mouth barely opened to each other, they only pressed their lips together, making a soft suction noise when they separated.

It wasn’t about the kiss, it was about the promise it entailed. Spock had told Jim it was alright, that he forgave him multiple times, and Jim had poured his heart out to try and apologize for everything he had gone through… and yet those words paled in comparison to the exchange they just endured. Their lips summarized everything they wanted to say for years, in a matter of seconds.

_It’s alright._

_I love you._

_Trust me._

_Everything will be okay._

_I promise._

Things would be ok. Things _could_ get better.

When Jim saw Spock pull back, his eyes still closed and his features accentuated by the light of the stars before them. Jim wrapped his arm around Spock gently, not trying to make him feel uncomfortable, or pulling him into his body to initiate more contact; he simply slinged his arm around him as a way to emphasize how he would try and protect Spock from here on out.

Their fingers separated, and Spock leaned his head against Jim, continuing his song slowly, both their eyes gazing out the window before them.

As Spock played Jim closed his eyes, imagining the notes dancing upward before them, and how beautiful and serene they would look. The longer he thought and the longer he stared out the window, the more he convinced himself that they would look just like those stars, twinkling in the distance. Fading in, fading out, and shimmering right on cue.

“Are you not going to finish singing?” Spock asked quietly, his eyes lifting, trying to look at Jim, but then resettling on the lyre in his lap.

A soft chuckle escaped Jim as he considered the request. “Would you believe me if I told you I forgot the words?” Jim whispered, squeezing Spock’s shoulder affectionately.

Spock continued playing, and Jim shut his eyes again, smiling gently as his mind silently recalled the words he in fact knew off by heart--the words he had never felt true meaning from until this very moment.

_‘That’s why darling, it’s incredible._

_That someone so unforgettable,_

_Thinks that I am,_

_Unforgettable, too.’_

 

~O~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to just thank SO many people for this story. I sometimes look back at my original plan for this story and I laugh really hard. You people wouldn't BELIEVE how messed up this story was and how hard it was to make something coherent out of those ideas! And I struggle ALOT with my writing... it's been an on going problem for me for years and years, but it's always something I've been really passionate about. 
> 
> I must thank Plaidshirtjimkirk, for essentially never giving up on me. She offered me support when i needed it, and pretty much let me know that what I was writing was worth writing. She taught me stuff about trek, about grammar, punctuation, and characters! She's a BRILLIANT, kind, loving, supportive, hilarious person, and if you ever get the chance my friends, TALK TO HER! She's so open, so fun, just .... wonderful. Her work also has inspired me alot, and I constantly rec it to you all because it truly is FABULOUS! So please check out her work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/works)!!!!! thank you plaid ! *blows kisses*
> 
> Also, thank you to the wonderful artists who have contributed their works to this story! not only did you make me literally cry upon receiving these pieces, but you added into the fandom these REMARKABLE pieces, and I'm honestly SOOOOO honoured to have this work sitting in this story.. You truly have no idea. PLEASE check these folks out! They have an awesome tumblr, and from there you can drop them an ask or see what they're working on!!
> 
> Quietoceanlove: [tumblr](ietoceanlove.tumblr.com)  
> Yesiker: [tumblr](http://therealdoodlenerd.tumblr.com/)  
> RowanBaines: [tumblr](rowan-baines.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also I'd like to thank a few of my readers specifically... thank you to bluu_bird for being such a support, and so loving and kind to me in your detailed responses! You have NO IDEA how much you've influenced me, and this story! Everyone is blown away by you way with words, and I always look forward to your comments after writing :) so thank you. 
> 
> Thank you to M, Studioustrekker, Rosemanon, Baliano711, Cowgirldressage, Legolasion, Qleo, AlexandraRM_98, Vulcankisseshuman, awaitingyourcall, Ranmao7, xinsanedreamerx , ....... *sighs* THERE ARE SO MANY OF YOU!!! but I want to thank you all listed here for reading from the very beginning... even through some of those really horrendously written ones... u stuck by me and saw some potential. So thank you for that! And Thank you all for just constantly supporting me with your words and encouraging me in ways you might not have known! <3 <3 <3 Thank you. 
> 
> And to everyone else .... I might have missed your name above... and i'd feel REALLY guilty if that's the case. But thank you ALL for reading this story... it really really really means the world to me. <3 <3 <3 Let me know if i did miss your name above, I'd LOVE to add it there. :) <3 
> 
> It's such a wierd mix of emotions being finished this story. But I'm so happy that some of you will be there for the sequel when it comes out. :) <3 It's going to be exciting, I promise! 
> 
> <3 Thank you all for going on this journey with me, and for hoping the best for Spock in this story. The fact that everyone's been so kind and accepting of my work has been remarkable. I urge EVERYONE to write. write constantly whether you think you can or can't. Because in the end, if you end up with something finished, you will feel so good. If you EVER need a friend to talk to, or want someone to read over your stuff, or need an opinion on a piece OR you just don't have any ideas and need help getting started, LET ME KNOW! I'm 10000% there for all of you! u can follow me on tumblr [here](i-am-cem.tumblr.com) (I'm always looking for more people to follow!). As well you can email me at iamcemxox@gmail.com! :)
> 
> Thanks again everyone! :) And with all sincerity, 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper! <3


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